J'A^ 


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BEATRICE  MANTLE 


GRET 


*'  'You  're  too  smart  for  every-day  use,'  she  remarked  witheringly 


GRET 

Zhc  Stores  of  a  jpaoan 

f 


BY 


BEATRICE  MANTLE 


•f 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
The  Century  Co. 

Published  September,  igoj 


THE   DE  VINNE   PRESS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I*AGE 

I  Wherein  Gret  is  Introduced 3 

II  A  Mysterious  Fire 17 

III  How  Jack  and  Mary  were  Married 29 

IV  Gret  Rebels 48 

V  A  Marriage  of  Convenience .    63 

VI  The  Great  Affront "jd 

VII  Gret  Comes  to  the  Rescue 86 

VIII  The  Pilgrimage  to  the  Backwoods 103 

IX  Mrs.  Baring  Meets  the  "Camp-girl"    .    .    .    .115 

X  New  Pieces  on  the  Board 135 

XI  A  Benevolent  Conspiracy 155 

XII  A  Friend  in  Need 164 

XIII  A  Day's  Enjoyment 183 

XIV  Faint  Shapes  of  the  Future 194 

XV  A  Great  Surprise 218 

XVI  The  Plans  of  Men 233 


M597418 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII  Gret  Goes  to  be  Civilized 251 

XVIII  Not  Counting  the  Cost 271 

XIX  The  Summons  Home 289 

XX  The  First  Shadow 297 

XXI  Gret  Hears  News 325 

XXII  Too  Late  ! 340 

XXIII  Good-by 353 

XXIV  The  Long  To-morrow 366 

XXV  Saved! 381 

XXVI  The  Ultimate  Niche 394 


GRET 


Between  her  and  the  Hidden  One" 


GRET 

CHAPTER  I 

WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED 

A  BRIGHT  afternoon  in  March — with  patches  of  bril- 
liant gold  light  on  the  river  and  a  sweet  misty  green 
on  the  densely  clothed  overhanging  banks;  with  crisp 
air,  through  which  the  hum  of  the  distant  donkey-engines 
and  the  whirr  of  the  nearer  ones  sounded  clear  like  music 
on  accustomed  ears,  and  in  which  the  swish  and  ripple  of 
the  outgoing  tide  formed  one  long  singing  murmur. 

Gret  Silway  lay  on  the  mossy  top  of  the  bluff  in  front 
of  her  home.  Her  elbows  were  dug  deep  into  the  moss, 
and  her  young  body  lay  along  it  in  lithe,  sinuous  repose. 
But,  in  spite  of  the  repose — even  laziness — of  her  atti- 
tude, she  was  very  much  on  the  alert.  She  was  watching 
with  keen  eyes  the  mouth  of  the  boom  in  the  river  beneath 
her.  Just  as  much  at  home  in  the  workings  of  it  as  any 
of  her  father's  men,  she  knew  by  the  activity  and  haste 
going  on  within  that  a  raft  must  be  going  down.  She 
was  puzzled,  though,  on  account  of  the  tide,  which  had 
been  running  out  for  the  last  half-hour  or  more. 

From  where  she  lay  she  commanded  a  view  of  all  im- 
portant points.  A  little  below,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  was  the  floating  camp-landing;  and  leading  from 


4  GRET 

that,  and  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  swamp  alder,  was  the 
board-walk  and  trolley-way  leading  to  the  camp.  Be- 
neath her,  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff,  was  their  own  little 
house-landing;  and  a  short  distance  above,  leading  up 
the  river,  was  the  boom,  packed  with  some  of  the  finest 
logs  in  the  state.  No  one  could  get  to  the  boom  from  the 
camp  without  her  noticing,  and  no  raft  would  go  down 
without  Dick  coming  to  oversee  it.  So  she  lay  and 
waited,  watching  with  critical  eyes  the  men  roll  out  the 
logs. 

Presently,  hurrying  down  the  board-walk  from  the 
camp,  came  a  boy;  and  at  sight  of  him  Gret  jumped  up. 

"Oly,  oh,  Oly !"  Oly  looked  up  quickly.  "Raft  going 
down  ?" 

Oly  nodded  vigorously,  and  pointed  behind  him  with 
many  signs;  and  in  a  second  or  so  the  reason  for  all 
this  dumb  show  appeared  in  the  person  of  Dick  Swinton, 
camp  foreman,  boom  boss  and  everything  else  that  was 
important  in  the  management  of  Silway's  camp.  Not 
on  his  life,  knowing  of  Dick's  proximity,  would  Oly  dare 
to  shout  an  affirmative  answer  to  Gret's  question. 

Dick  Swinton  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and  much 
knowledge  in  certain  grooves ;  he  was,  moreover,  a  man  of 
considerable  tact,  and  handled  men  and  logs  with  equal 
facility.  He  managed  Silway's  camp  and  made  a  big  suc- 
cess. But  he  undertook  another  management  at  about 
the  same  time  and  made  a  howling  failure  of  it — a  failure 
plain  to  the  eyes  of  all  men.  He  proposed  to  manage 
Gret  Silway,  seeing  that  she  was  yearly  growing  in  need 
of  this  service,  with  seemingly  no  one  at  hand  who  cared 
to  perform  it.  Only,  this  time  honest,  well-meaning  Dick 
had  undertaken  something  quite  beyond  both  his  tact  and 
his  knowledge. 

Among  other  things,  there  was  a  settled  formula  be- 
tween Gret  and  Dick — observed  just  as  regularly  as  a  raft 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED     5 

went  down  the  river — whereby  he  should  do  his  best  to 
beg,  persuade  or  threaten  her  out  of  going  down  on  it, 
and  she  should  just  as  carefully  disregard  it  all.  It  was 
a  very  useless  formula,  always  had  been,  always  would 
be.  Dick  himself  admitted  that  if  he  had  a  dollar  for 
every  raft  that  had  gone  down  the  river  this  last  two 
years  without  Gret  on  it  he  would  not  be  much  better  off. 
Still,  he  always  went  through  the  usual  ceremony,  being 
honestly  afraid  for  the  life  of  the  girl.  Some  time  ago 
two  girls  had  ventured  on  a  raft  tied  up  midway  down  on 
the  river.  Stepping  on  a  rolling  log  one  of  the  girls  was 
drowned  beneath  the  raft,  and  her  companion  was 
drowned  in  trying  to  save  her.  This  had  given  Dick  a 
scare  from  which  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  recover; 
though  most  of  the  camp  hands — the  old  ones,  at  all 
events,  who  knew  Gret  thoroughly — laughed  at  the  mere 
idea  of  her  ever  being  drowned. 

"Gret  knows  the  sight  of  a  rolling  log  just  as  well  as 
she  knows  her  dinner,"  they  said  time  and  again.  But 
still  Dick  remained  apprehensive. 

"If  the  rafts  were  made  same  as  they  do  back  east,  I 
would  n't  care,"  he  would  grumble.  "They  're  chained 
good  and  hard  together — just  as  safe  as  a  boat.  But 
these  logs,  rolling  around  loose  in  the  boomsticks — that  's 
no  place  for  a  bit  of  a  girl."  Nevertheless,  the  bit  of  a 
girl  continued  to  go. 

Gret  stood  waiting  on  the  bluff  until  she  saw  Dick  get 
into  his  boat  and  paddle  off  to  get  the  boomsticks  that  lay 
stretched  along  the  side  of  the  river.  Then  with  a  whoop 
of  glee  she  flew  down  the  somewhat  rickety  steps  built 
down  the  side  of  the  bluff,  jumped  into  her  boat  with  a 
recklessness  born  of  long  experience,  and  with  about 
three  paddles,  gondolier  fashion,  was  up  alongside  the 
carefully  unobservant  foreman. 

"The  end  stick  's  caught  a  little  in  the  mud  already," 


6  GRET 

she  observed,  noticing  the  tall  figure  in  the  boat  sway 
slightly  in  the  effort  to  drag  the  lagging  sticks  after  him. 
"Why,  Dick,  tide  's  been  running  out  nearly  an  hour. 
What  is  it— hurry  call  ?" 

**Yes— towboat  's  coming  nearly  all  the  way,"  replied 
Dick  promptly.  "This  won't  be  nothing  worth  your  both- 
ering about,  Gret." 

Gret  accepted  this  preliminary  protest  as  a  matter  of 
form ;  that  is,  she  took  no  notice  of  it.  She  turned  her 
attention  to  Oly,  who  was  getting  ready  the  boat  in  which 
to  accompany  the  raft. 

"Not  that  boat,"  with  a  quick  shake  of  the  head.  "Too 
blunt.  Don't  you  remember  how  it  slap-slapped  behind 
the  towboat  before  ?    Take  Dick's." 

"He  won't  let  me,  will  he?"  half  making  as  if  to  row 
toward  that  dignitary. 

Gret  regarded  the  youth  with  calm  exasperation.  "Not 
while  he  's  in  it,  of  course.    Wait  till  he  gets  out." 

Oly  obeyed  meekly;  and  presently,  just  as  the  boom- 
sticks  were  chained  and  the  raft  set  free,  he  succeeded 
in  making  the  required  change. 

Gret  went  sailing  off  on  the  raft,  having  disregarded 
with  a  smile  Dick's  request  that,  if  she  must  go  down, 
she  would  sit  in  the  boat  with  Oly  instead  of  standing  on 
the  raft. 

As  the  raft  glided  away,  Jake  Connor,  the  camp  cook, 
strolled  down  the  board-way.  "Gone  already?  Pretty 
swift  work,  was  n't  it?" 

Dick  nodded.  "Towboat  will  be  more  than  half-way 
to  meet  her." 

"Of  course,  Gret  had  to  go,"  laughed  Jake. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  a  trifle  petulantly. 

Jake  looked  after  the  diminishing  figure  of  the  girl,  at 
the  short  skirt  that  barely  reached  her  ankles,  and  the 
battered  remnant  of  hat  swinging  lightly  on  her  arm ;  he 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED     7 

looked  at  the  broad  chest  and  the  powerful  poise  of  the 
youthful  form,  and  then  turned  by  Dick's  side  back  to 
the  camp  up  the  board-way. 

"She  's  a  great  girl,  is  Gret,"  he  observed.  "Cut  a 
pretty  wide  swath,  I  fancy,  wherever  she  's  set  down." 

"Cut  a  pretty  wide  hole  in  the  river  first,"  responded 
Dick  shortly.  And  Jake,  with  a  sharp,  quizzical  glance  at 
his  companion,  dropped  the  subject. 

Meanwhile  Gret,  all  unconscious  of  this  mournful 
prophecy  concerning  her  future,  drifted  in  great  content- 
ment of  spirit  down  with  the  tide.  It  was  the  sweet 
uncertainty  of  the  course  that  pleased  her,  otherwise  the 
drifting  process  must  have  been  slow.  But  to  be  carried 
quickly — too  quickly — by  the  hurrying  tide  round  a  sharp 
bend  and  landed  in  the  opposite  bank;  and  then  to 
watch  the  waters  come  bustling  round,  Ufting  a  little 
here,  drifting  out  a  little  there,  until  at  last  they  were 
borne  off  again  in  triumph — ^to  do  the  same  thing  round 
the  next  bend,  or  perhaps  just  to  miss  it  by  a  hair's 
breadth— oh,  it  was  fine!  It  reminded  Gret  of  Rube 
Drexel  up  at  the  camp,  who  always  made  such  a  fuss  and 
splutter  over  doing  nothing. 

It  was  over  a  week  since  Gret  had  been  down  the  river, 
and  she  watched  the  banks  with  observant  eyes.  Pres- 
ently they  passed  a  somewhat  dejected-looking  ranch, 
standing  on  a  bit  of  marsh  at  the  river  edge.  Upward, 
at  the  back  of  this,  stretched  a  shallow  gulch  clothed  with 
timber:  and  down  this  Gret  was  surprised  to  see  a  soli- 
tary horse  hauling  logs.  A  track  across  the  strip  of 
marsh  had  been  dug  and  sluiced,  and  the  animal  waded 
through  several  feet  of  mud  to  the  river. 

Gret  stared;  she  had  been  born  and  raised  amid  the 
lumbering  business,  but  never  had  she  seen  things  man- 
aged exactly  like  this.  She  turned  to  Oly  in  the  boat  be- 
hind her.    'Why,  what  's  he  doing?" 


8  GRET 

"Hand-logging,"  replied  the  lad.  "Widow  McCarty  's 
sold  all  her  timber  to  him.  She  's  a  fool  to  do  it,  /  say. 
That  feller  would  n't  give  her  no  such  price  as  anybody 
else  would  have  done." 

"Well,  but —  He  's  doing  it  all  in  such  a  funny  way," 
persisted  Gret.  "When  people  hand-log  they  generally 
have  a  sort  of  windlass  thing  that  draws  the  log  along. 
But  he — What  's  he  got  all  that  mud  for  ?" 

Oly  contemplated  operations  grimly  as  the  raft  swung 
past.  "That  poor,  onery  horse  could  n't  draw  a  log 
acrost  dry  ground,"  he  explained.  "The  mud  makes  it 
kind  of  slick,  greases  it  like,  so  it  don't  stick  and  bite  the 
ground.  The  darn  feller  's  too  mean  to  set  up  a  wind- 
lass." 

"It  must  be  very  horrid  for  the  poor  horse,  walking 
up  and  down  all  day  in  that  mud,"  went  on  Gret,  still 
frowning. 

"Well,  would  n't  be  so  bad  jest  in  the  daytime,  if  he  'd 
throw  a  bucket  or  two  of  water  over  it  and  wash  it  off 
night-times,"  said  Oly,  regarding  the  receding  scene  with 
disfavor.  "But  he  don't.  He  turns  the  poor  thing  into 
the  bam  jest  as  it  is.  Wonder  it  don't  get  mud  fever  and 
die.  Would,"  added  he  with  youthful  cynicism,  "if  he 
was  a  poor  man  trying  to  do  his  best." 

Gret's  eyes  grew  wide  as  she  listened.  "Well,  what 
does  the  Widow  McCarty  allow  him  to  do  it  for? 
I  thought  she  was  supposed  to  be  a  What-do-you- 
call-it." 

"Dunno.  Something  that  's  supposed  to  be  extry 
good,"  said  Oly,  scratching  his  head  thoughtfully  with 
the  peak  of  his  cap.  "Oh,  she  don't  like  it  at  all,  they 
say.  But  what  can  she  do  'bout  it  ?  She  's  sold  the  tim- 
ber, and  the  feller  's  got  to  be  allowed  to  get  it  off'n  the 
land.  She  says  she  hopes  Providence  '11  interfere.  She 
can't  do  nothing." 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED     9 

Gret  glanced  at  the  lad  in  disgust;  but  Oly  was  still 
looking  up-stream,  and  so  remained  unconcerned.  If  one 
thing  disgusted  the  girl  more  than  another  it  was  this 
clapping  onto  Providence  of  the  work  people  did  not 
care  about  doing  themselves.  Providence  was  at  best  an 
exceedingly  vague  institution  with  Gret,  standing  princi- 
pally for  that  law  of  contrary  which  generally  contrived 
to  have  people  do  the  things  they  did  n't  want  to  do  and 
leave  undone  the  things  they  did.  She  had  been  told  that 
these  revised  arrangements  were  always  for  the  best  in 
the  long  run,  but  considered  this  a  statement  to  be  taken 
under  advisement.  At  all  events,  whatever  it  was,  one 
thing  was  sure  about  this  Providence :  it  was  a  very 
slow-going  arrangement;  and  as  Gret's  affairs  were  al- 
ways conducted  with  alarming  vigor,  she  would  have 
scorned  its  aid. 

She  said  nothing  more  about  the  McCarty  ranch;  but 
Oly,  turning  his  attention  back  to  her  presently,  observed 
that  she  was  getting  up  steam.  This  was  his  term  for 
the  peculiar  deep  breaths  that  were  characteristic  of  her. 
In  a  few  minutes,  however,  the  towboat  came  in  sight 
round  the  bend  of  the  river;  and  in  the  excitement  of 
being  taken  in  tow  everything  else  was  apparently  for- 
gotten. Oly,  in  view  of  the  long  row  back  and  the  ap- 
proaching dinner  hour,  wanted  to  leave  the  raft  as  soon 
as  the  towline  was  out ;  but  Gret  insisted  on  being  towed 
down  to  the  mill.  After  a  stormy  discussion  it  was 
settled  that  they  should  only  go  as  far  as  the  first  bridge ; 
but  as  the  first  bridge  was  quite  near  the  mill,  the  conces- 
sion was  a  mere  formality. 

As  they  left  the  raft  and  turned  back  home  Oly  was 
sullen  and  Gret  filled  with  glee.  Oly  was  bucking  tide, 
and  vowing  with  every  stroke  not  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
listen  to  Gret  again.  He  had  said  this  five  hundred*  times 
before,  though,  and  Gret  was  wholly  undisturbed.    But  in 


lo  GRET 

view  of  such  a  shocking  exhibition  of  temper  she  refused 
to  help  with  the  rowing. 

By  and  by,  however,  the  tide  ceased  to  run  out,  rowing 
became  easier,  and  by  the  time  the  McCarty  ranch  was 
reached  equanimity  had  been  restored.  Gret  said  nothing 
further  on  the  ill-used  horse  subject;  but  she  eyed  the 
scene  narrowly  as  they  rowed  past.  Oly,  accustomed  by 
long  and  sometimes  sad  experience  to  Gret's  methods, 
wondered  which  was  coming  in  for  the  fruits  of  her  dis- 
pleasure :  the  widow  or  the  logger.  He  rather  thought 
the  logger.  He  never  supposed  for  a  moment  that  Gret 
had  dismissed  the  matter  from  her  mind.  He  knew  of 
old  that  she  said  least  when  most  was  intended. 

When  at  last  they  reached  the  camp-landing,  Gret  did 
not  wait  for  Oly  to  accompany  her  as  usual.  She  jumped 
out,  and  raced  up  the  board-way  alone,  leaving  Oly  to  tie 
up  the  boat  and  follow  when  he  chose. 

Reaching  the  camp,  Gret  went  straight  to  the  cook- 
house, where  Jake  was  busy  making  pies.  She  jumped 
up  on  her  favorite  seat — the  top  of  the  table — and  drew 
a  deep  swelling  breath.  Jake,  pausing  with  a  pie-lid  in 
his  fingers,  glanced  round  apprehensively;  he  knew  as 
surely  as  if  she  had  uttered  a  war-whoop  that  Gret  had 
entered  the  battle-field  under  some  flag  or  other. 

Jake  Connor  had  been  cook  in  Silway's  camp  for  three 
years,  considering  the  post  a  fairly  comfortable  one;  he 
had  also  occupied  for  the  same  period  the  far  more  oner- 
ous position  of  adviser-in-chief  to  the  boss's  daughter. 
Jake,  having  knocked  about  the  world  from  pillar  to  post, 
and  having  been  almost  everything  a  man  of  adventurous 
bent  can  be,  had  in  the  course  of  his  varied  career  ac- 
quired a  sort  of  adjustable  philosophy  that  had  taken 
Gret's  ear  in  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintanceship.  In 
the  first  instance  Jake  had  occupied  the  position  of 
mentor  and  adviser  to  a  somewhat  refractory  being  with 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED   ii 

pride,  but  latterly  this  honor  was  weighing  heavily  upon 
him.  He  was  divided  between  fear  of  having  his  advice 
rejected  with  scorn  if  it  were  not  up  to  the  required 
standard  of  vigor,  and  of  having  it  immediately  acted 
upon  if  it  were.  He  wondered  what  was  coming  now,  but 
asked  no  questions,  it  being  an  item  of  his  philosophy 
never  to  meet  trouble  half-way. 

"Jake,"  began  the  girl,  "what  is—  ?"  She  broke  off, 
her  eyes  wandering  down  the  line  of  pies.  "What  kind 
of  pies  are  you  making?" 

"Mince,"  replied  Jake,  knowing  that  as  far  as  Gret  was 
concerned  the  list  might  begin  and  end  there. 

"Oh!"  contentedly.  "I  '11  come  in  to  supper,  Jake. 
You  won't  be  making  mince  much  longer,  will  you  ?" 

"No;  but  I  thought  your  mother  said  you  were  to  be 
home  for  dinner  always,"  said  Jake. 

"Well,  I  'm  going  home  to  dinner,"  calmly.  "We  have 
dinner  at  five,  you  have  supper  at  six.    You  know  that." 

"Oh!"  said  Jake  lamely,  not  without  reflections  upon 
Gret's  appetite. 

"Jake,"  began  the  girl  once  more,  "what  is  Provi- 
dence ?" 

Jake  turned  round  and  stared  at  his  interlocutor,  a  cir- 
cular pie-lid  hanging  in  his  fingers. 

"If  you  hold  that  pie  paste  much  longer  the  bottom 
half  will  drop  off  on  the  floor,"  remarked  Gret  dryly  after 
a  moment. 

Thus  adjured,  Jake  turned  back  to  the  table  and  ad- 
justed the  lid  to  the  pie,  reflecting  meanwhile  on  the 
safest  and  most  sensible  way  of  replying  to  the  mo- 
mentous question  just  propounded. 

"Well,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  then,  "it  's  what  pun- 
ishes people  when  they  do  wrong." 

"Oh !"  There  was  a  distinct  note  of  interest  in  Gret's 
voice. 


12  GRET 

Sometime  and  somewhere  Jake  had  listened  to  the 
declamation  at  an  election  meeting  of  a  certain  portion 
of  "Macbeth."  He  had  been  particularly  struck  at  the  time 
with  the  completeness  and  finality  of  the  famous  state- 
ment that  ''murder  will  out."  He  conceived  that  it  would 
put  a  fine  touch  to  his  explanations  now. 

''You  see,"  he  went  on  confidentially,  "if  you  do  a 
murder  that  you  think  nobody  knows  anything  about. 
Providence  will  find  you  out  and  punish  you.    As  Sha— " 

"It  won't  at  all,"  broke  in  Gret  indignantly.  "The 
police  will,  and  the  law  will  hang  you." 

"Well,"  said  Jake  unabashed,  "it  's  Providence  makes 
them  do  it,  though." 

"Oh!"  Gret's  tone  was  receptive  once  more.  "I  see. 
Then  if  you  feel  like  you  wanted  to  punish  any  one  it  's 
Providence  making  you  feel  that  way." 

But  Jake  scented  danger,  and  attempted  to  back  out. 
"Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  's  exactly  like  that,"  he  said 
carefully.  "People  don't  generally  know  when  they  're 
workin'  for  Providence.  'T  ain't  never  safe  to  calculate 
that  you  're  a  special  messenger  of  that  kind.  You  won't 
know  anything  about  it  when  you  are." 

Gret  nodded,  but  absently.  She  had  hardly  listened  to 
this  last  discourse,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  was  not 
altogether  to  her  liking.  She  possessed  the  happy  knack 
of  taking  to  heart  just  so  much  of  a  fact  as  suited  her 
purpose  and  coolly  rejecting  the  remainder. 

"And  so,"  she  went  on  thoughtfully,  after  a  moment, 
"Providence  does  n't  bother  people  unless  it  is  to  punish 
them?" 

Jake  cast  a  hasty  glance  backward  over  his  sojourning 
in  this  vale  of  sorrow.    "Nope." 

Gret  said  no  more,  but  gave  a  little  contented  sigh.  It 
was  satisfactory,  at  any  rate,  to  have  relegated  Provi- 
dence to  some  kind  of  a  definite  place  in  the  order  of 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED   13 

things,  instead  of  having  it  forever  bobbing  up  where 
least  expected,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  on  the  marsh  of  life. 
And  Jake,  too,  glad  to  let  so  momentous  a  subject  drop, 
turned  the  subject  into  other  channels. 

"Robin  went  down  to  the  Harbor  to-day." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

''How  is  it  you  did  n't  go  along?" 

Gret's  lip  curled.    "Father  sent  one  of  his  letters." 

Jake  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  trifle  contemptuously. 
It  was  a  fad  of  Mr.  Silway's  to  send,  from  that  city, 
where  he  sojourned  most  of  his  time,  periodical  letters 
announcing  his  return  at  any  date  from  the  time  of  writ- 
ing. This  he  fondly  imagined  tended  to  preserve  dis- 
cipline—to be,  in  fact,  tantamount  to  a  command  to  stand 
at  arms  all  through  home  and  camp.  In  reality  no  one 
took  the  least  notice  of  these  would-be  portentous  epistles 
—except,  perhaps,  the  wife,  who  so  dreaded  the  exhibi- 
tions of  temper  and  the  general  upset  that  a  visit  from 
the  lord  and  master  meant. 

As  a  rule,  though  these  diplomatic  letters  did  no  good, 
they,  on  the  other  hand,  did  no  harm.  But  this  one  to-day 
had  arrived  in  time  to  stop  Gret's  proposed  expedition 
with  Robin  to  Quellish  Harbor. 

Robin  Start  was  a  youth  about  two  years  Gret's  senior, 
and  her  chum  as  far  as  she  indulged  in  such  a  luxury. 
It  had  come  to  be  a  settled  thing— in  the  minds  of  Gret 
and  Robin,  at  all  events— that  whenever  Robin  went  down 
to  the  Harbor,  Gret  should  go  to.  There,  while  Robin 
gathered  the  fruits  of  his  marketings  into  the  boat,  she 
stood  and  gloated  over  the  contents  of  the  window  of  the 
one  musty  dry-goods  store.  Of  course,  every  article  con- 
tained therein  was  months  behind  any  known  fashion; 
but  to  Gret's  heathen  ideas  they  were  models  of  elegance, 
and  the  contemplation  of  them  was  soul-satisfying  in  the 
extreme.     And   she  had  been   intensely  disgusted  that 


14  GRET 

morning  when  so  slight  and  transparent  a  thing  as  her 
father's  letter  had  stood  in  the  way  of  her  visit  to  civiliza- 
tion. 

"Can't  think  why  mother  takes  any  notice  of  the  old 
letters,"  she  observed  gloomily. 

"Me  neither,"  agreed  Jake,  closing  the  oven-door  upon 
the  pies  with  an  air  of  satisfaction.  "Now,  where  do  you 
suppose  that  Bill  is  ?" 

Bill — otherwise  Skookum  Bill — was  the  camp  flunkey. 
Many  of  the  most  expressive  Indian  words  were  used  in 
the  lumbering  districts,  and  among  them  skookum,  signi- 
fying "big"  or  "fat,"  was  considered  by  the  men  of  Sil- 
way's  camp  as  particularly  appropriate  to  Bill,  and  was 
therefore  applied  without  any  unnecessary  delay  upon 
the  first  night  of  his  arrival.  Gret  considered  the  appella- 
tion altogether  too  long  for  every-day  use,  and  shortened 
it  to  suit  herself.  She  slid  off  the  table  now,  and,  going 
to  the  door  of  the  cook-house,  called  for  the  missing 
youth. 

"Skook!    OSkook!" 

The  name  lent  itself  readily  to  a  shout,  and  her  voice 
sounded  all  over  the  foot  of  the  canon  wherein  the  camp 
buildings  stood.  And  in  a  moment,  rubbing  his  eyes 
furiously,  and  scowling  upon  an  unwelcome  world, 
Skookum  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  bunk-house, 
whither  he  had  crept  for  a  short  nap. 

"Pies  are  in,"  said  Gret  laconically.  Whereupon 
Skookum,  waking  to  the  responsibilities  of  life,  charged 
into  the  dining-room — otherwise  the  long  barn-like  build- 
ing, with  tables  and  benches  up  the  middle,  which  did 
duty  in  that  capacity. 

Gret  watched  him  disappear,  and  then  turned  her  head 
over  her  shoulder  to  talk  to  Jake  within  the  kitchen 
again.  "Jim  go  down  to  the  Harbor?"  referring  to  the 
second  cook,  dish-washer,  and  general  assistant  to  Jake. 


WHEREIN  GRET  IS  INTRODUCED   15 

Jake  grunted  in  the  affirmative.  "Well,  I  'm  going  home 
now,  Jake." 

"All  right." 

"What's  the  time?" 

"Ten  minutes  to  five." 

"I  '11  have  to  hurry.  No  sense  in  being  in  such  a 
hurry,  was  there?"  This  to  Oly,  who  was  passing  on 
the  skid-road.  Then  to  Jake,  within  the  kitchen  again, 
"Oly  was  so  scared  he  was  going  to  be  late  for  dinner, 
and  here  's  an  hour  to  spare.  I  don't  suppose  I  '11  be 
late  getting  back,  but  if  I  should  be,  put  me  away  half 
a  pie." 

"Half!"  echoed  Jake. 

"Well,  you  can't  spare  a  whole  one,  can  you  ?"  quickly. 

"No — my  gracious,  no!"  ejaculated  the  horrified  cook, 
who  had  had  in  mind  the  usual  allowance,  that  is,  a 
quarter. 

"Oh,  well,  half  will  do,"  said  Gret  gently. 

Jake  mumbled  something  which  might  be  taken  for 
assent.  The  only  thing  in  which  he  could  be  said  to  be 
stingy  was  pie;  and  that,  on  account  of  his  dislike  to 
the  making,  he  dealt  out  with  a  sparing  hand.  Gret  was 
one  of  the  biggest  pie-eaters  with  whom  Jake  had  to  con- 
tend, and  though  she  sweetly  assured  him  from  time  to 
time  that  the  extreme  delicacy  of  his  pastry-work  alone 
was  responsible  for  the  abnormal  appetite  displayed,  yet 
in  face  of  the  great  consumption  he  was  hardly  com- 
forted. He  felt  he  could  have  done  with  a  little  less 
admiration. 

Gret  paused  a  second  before  making  the  proposed  start 
for  home  to  speak  to  Dick  Swinton,  who  came  up  to  her 
from  off  the  skid. 

"So  you  did  n't  manage  to  drown  yourself  this  time," 
he  said  with  an  attempt  at  gruffness. 

"No,"    with    a    smile    and    a    shake    of    the    head. 


i6  GRET 

"Could  n't  manage  it.  You  know,  Mike  Westerfeldt  says 
we  can't  die  before  our  'appointed  time.' " 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said  Jake  from  within  the 
cook-house,  "there  's  a  whole  lot  in  not  being  on  hand 
when  that  there  time  arrives." 

"You  bet  I"  assented  Dick  with  scorn. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE 

GRET  scrambled  hastily  up  the  bluff  steps  on  her  way 
home  to  dinner,  and  as  she  reached  the  top  gave  a 
little  sigh  of  relief.  Her  mother  was  still  sitting  reading 
on  the  porch,  which  rneant  that  dinner  was  not  yet  on 
the  table.  Without  disturbing  her,  Gret  passed  round 
to  the  back  of  the  house  and  entered  the  kitchen.  Lizzie, 
the  gentle  maid  of  all  work,  was  bending  critically  over 
a  pot  of  something  that  bubbled  and  steamed  on  the  little 
range,  her  sleeves  tucked  up  to  the  elbow,  and  her 
bristly  hair  almost  obscuring  the  range  from  view.  Gret 
went  and  stood  near  her. 

She  contemplated  the  damsel  before  her  for  a  moment. 
Then,  ''Mike  Westerfeldt  's  mad  at  you." 

Lizzie  tossed  her  head  amid  the  steam,     'Who  cares  ?" 

"You  put  the  currant  rice  on  the  steps  outside  to  cool, 
did  n't  you?"  changing  the  subject  with  disconcerting 
suddenness. 

"Yes." 

"Because  Jack,"  alluding  to  her  pet  jackdaw,  "is  stand- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  bowl  eating  all  the  currants  out." 

Lizzie  flew  to  the  door,  and  a  series  of  flaps  and 
squawks  and  hysterical  chattering  intimated  that  Jack 
had  saved  his  life  only  by  sudden  flight.  Presently  Lizzie 
returned  to  the  stove,  and  likewise  Gret  to  the  opening 
topic. 

"Know  what  Mike  's  mad  at?" 


i8  GRET 

"Nope,"  with  another  toss  of  the  head. 

"Well,  he  saw  you  talking  to  Gus  Rosenberg  a  long 
time  on  the  landing  last  night." 

"Well,  whose  business  is  that?"  demanded  Lizzie  airily. 

"You  're  his  girl,  and  so  he  does  n't  think  you  ought  to 
do  it,"  explained  Gret. 

"Pshaw !  Suppose  because  I  go  with  him  now  and 
again  I  'm  never  going  to  speak  to  another  man?"  de- 
manded Lizzie  with  scorn. 

"Don't  know,"  replied  Gret  interested.  "But  Jake  says 
you  need  n't  mind  Mike,  because  any  kind  of  old  girl 
can  get  a  sweetheart  up  here." 

Lizzie  stared;  and  Gret,  who  had  herself  been  struck 
by  the  many-sidedness  of  the  observation,  returned  the 
stare  with  curiosity.  Men  with  sweethearts  were  funny 
things,  and  girls  with  sweethearts  even  funnier.  They 
got  mad  upon  all  kinds  of  unlooked-for  occasions,  and 
invariably  talked  without  a  particle  of  sense.  And  on 
the  whole  Gret  considered  Lizzie  a  very  fine  specimen  of 
the  genus. 

After  waiting  a  moment  to  see  if  a  reply  to  Jake's 
peculiarly  comforting  message  would  be  forthcoming, 
and  receiving  none,  Gret  went  up-stairs  to  her  little 
bedroom  over  the  kitchen,  where  a  most  hasty  and  per- 
functory dinner  toilet  was  performed.  Then  she  went 
down  again,  and  went  out  into  the  garden  to  find  and 
comfort  the  unfortunate  Jack. 

Jack,  hearing  the  well-known  voice  calling,  emerged 
cautiously  from  behind  a  bush,  and  came  with  his  queer 
little  jerky  run  to  take  his  usual  perch  on  the  girl's 
wrist.  Gret  stroked  the  pretty  tilue-gray  plumage,  and 
condoled  with  him  on  his  recent  disaster,  irrespective  of 
the  fact  that  she  herself  had  been  the  cause  of  it.  Her 
heart  was  very  quick  and  tender  toward  anything  that 
loved  and  trusted  her.     At  the  same  time,  if  Jack  had 


A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE  19 

refused  to  obey  her  call,  or  had  in  any  way  defied  her, 
she  would  have  beaten  him  at  once. 

Presently  Gret  put  the  bird  down  and  stood  frowning 
slightly.  Of  course,  Lizzie  had  to  be  a  little  late  with 
dinner  just  because  she  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  camp 
again  quickly.  She  did  not  like  eating  her  pie  by  herself ; 
besides,  Robin  would  surely  be  back  from  the  Harbor 
by  this,  and  he  would  just  as  surely  stop  in  at  the  camp 
for  dinner.  She  wanted  to  ask  him  if  there  was  anything 
new  in  Dimsdale's  window,  and — 

"Gret!  Gret!"  called  her  sister's  sweet,  clear  voice. 
"Come  to  dinner."    And  Gret  gladly  obeyed  the  call. 

Mrs.  Silway  was  already  seated  at  the  table  as  Gret 
came  in,  and  she  looked  up  as  the  girl  took  her  seat. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  afternoon,  Gret?" 

"Down  the  river  on  a  raft  part  of  the  time,"  replied 
the  girl  truthfully. 

"After  I  told  you  not  to  go  far  from  home?" 

"Well,  it  was  a  hurry  call,  and  the  towboat  came  half 
the  way  to  fetch  it,"  explained  Gret.  "It  was  n't  of  any 
account  at  all." 

Mrs.  Silway  lifted  her  eyebrows  slightly.  "Not  of  any 
account!"  she  repeated. 

"I  mean,"  said  Gret,  frowning  perplexedly,  "it  was 
nothing  particular  to  go  down  on  that  raft." 

"If  you  adopt  the  camp  phraseology  as  you  are  doing 
lately,  I  shall  forbid  you  to  go  near  it,"  observed  Mrs. 
Silway  quietly.  She  never  did  speak  with  very  much  em- 
phasis, but  she  always  meant  what  she  said,  nevertheless. 

It  was  about  the  only  point  in  her  children's  behavior 
—or  rather  in  Gret's,  for  Eva  was  of  too  gentle  and  lan- 
guid a  temperament  ever  to  offend  in  this  line — upon 
which  Mrs.  Silway  troubled  herself  much.  She  abso- 
lutely detested  slang,  loose  phraseology,  or  the  slightest 
coarseness  of  manner ;  and  for  the  sake  of  her  own  eyes 


20  GRET 

and  ears  she  forbade  anything  of  the  kind  in  her  pres- 
ence. Inherently  refined,  the  careful  education  and  breed- 
ing she  had  received  had  accentuated  this  trait ;  and  now, 
whatever  she  might  do  or  leave  undone,  Margaret  Sil- 
way  never  could  be  anything  but  a  lady. 

Gret  received  her  mother's  threat  in  silence  and  in- 
ward horror.  She  registered  a  mental  vow  to  so  curb 
and  watch  her  speech  in  future  as  to  preclude  any  risk  of 
its  being  carried  out.  To  do  the  girl  justice,  it  was  very 
little  slang  that  she  used— marvelously  little,  seeing  that  it 
rang  in  her  ears  all  day.  But  she  had  discovered  long 
ago  that  it  was  a  moral  impossibility  to  talk  slang  up  in 
the  camp  and  then  come  home  and  drop  it  suddenly. 
Obviously  there  only  remained  not  to  talk  it  at  all,  which 
course  Gret  undertook  to  pursue. 

Meals  were  always  quiet  and  more  or  less  silent  affairs 
with  the  Silways.  Between  this  mother  and  daughters, 
and  between  these  sisters,  there  seemed  to  be  very  little 
in  common  as  yet.  Time,  as  it  brought  them  all  to  adult 
age  together,  might  so  level  things  as  to  bring  about  a 
companionship  of  tastes  or  ideas;  but  at  present  three 
separate  and  unsympathetic  entities  sat  about  that  simple 
table  in  the  mighty  woods  of  the  Wishkah.  Mrs.  Silway 
was  always  so  buried  in  her  books  and  so  deep  in  the 
trains  of  thought  awakened  by  them  as  to  seem  removed 
from,  and  at  times  almost  oblivious  to,  her  surroundings ; 
Gret  was  busy  with  her  various  escapades  and  projects, 
and  Eva  seemed  at  all  times  content  with  her  own  dreamy 
thoughts  and  maiden  romances.  It  was  an  odd  house- 
hold, sheltering  odd  beings,  and  exemplifying  a  very  odd 
state  of  affairs;  an  effect  whose  cause  lay  back  through 
many  long  years  and  whose  result  was  not  yet  all  told. 

When  Walter  Silway's  father-in-law  gave  him  the  sum 
of  money  required  to  buy  out  the  proprietor  of  a  certain 
small  logging-camp  out  west  he  did  it  only  to  be  rid  of 


A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE  21 

him,  and  not  for  a  moment  because  he  thought  Walter 
would  make  anything  of  either  the  money  or  the  camp. 
He  told  his  daughter  at  the  same  time  that  when  Walter 
had  spent  the  money,  or  made  away  with  the  camp,  she 
could  come  back  home.  But  it  must  be  alone  and  once 
for  all. 

The  luck  that  had  always  given  Silway  more  than  he 
deserved,  however,  stood  by  him  now.  In  the  first  place, 
he  entered  the  Pacific  Northwest  and  the  lumber  business 
just  as  prices  were  going  up,  the  demand  for  lumber  in- 
creasing, and  facilities  for  shipping  and  transportation 
improving;  and  in  the  second  place,  knowing  absolutely 
nothing  of  the  lumber  business  himself,  he  had  the  good 
fortune  to  secure  at  the  outset,  nominally  as  foreman, 
but  in  reality  as  manager,  one  of  the  best  men  on  the 
Pacific  slope.  Dick  Swinton  was  very  young  when  he 
came  to  Silway,  but  in  the  running  of  a  logging-camp 
and  the  management  of  men  he  could  give  pointers  to 
men  twice  his  age.  Those  who  knew  anything  of  the 
matter  always  said  that  Dick  made  Silway's  money,  and 
not  by  any  means  Silway  himself.  Probably  Silway 
would  have  been  the  last  to  admit  anything  of  the  kind; 
and  Dick,  if  he  realized  the  fact,  was  undisturbed  thereat. 
Still,  the  fact  remained,  for  fact  it  was. 

Silway's  luck  was  consistent  all  the  way  through.  The 
camp  that  he  bought  without  even  seeing  it  was  a  good 
one,  in  a  fine  belt  of  easily  purchasable  timber  and  within 
touch  of  a  serviceable  river.  Merely  as  a  river  the 
Wishkah  was  of  no  more  importance  than  any  of  the 
other  rivers  intersecting  the  Pacific  Northwest  slope; 
but  as  a  vehicle  for  logs  it  was  as  near  perfection  as 
the  heart  of  a  camp  boss  could  wish.  For  thirty  miles 
its  tides  were  swift  and  strong,  and  it  could  float  a  raft  of 
logs  down  to  the  mills  in  less  time  than  a  towboat  could 
come  to  fetch  it.    It  would  have  been  better,  perhaps,  if 


22  GRET 

the  spirited  little  river  had  been  a  bit  wider.  As  it  was, 
for  two  miles  Silway's  boom  occupied  about  five-sixths 
of  its  width;  and  up  or  down  the  remaining  sixth  when 
the  tide  was  low  it  was  hard  to  get  even  a  rowboat.  The 
people  who  lived  up  above  this  sixth  called  it  the  Jam; 
and  as  they  were  all  either  employed  at  the  camp  or  knew 
some  one  who  was,  they  ordered  their  lives  accordingly 
and  made  no  complaint. 

Things  went  well  with  Silway  from  first  to  last.  He 
built  a  plain  little  house  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  over- 
looking the  boom,  in  which  he  installed  his  wife  and  the 
two  little  girls,  Gret  and  Eva;  for  himself  he  had  other 
plans.  He  began  to  go  to  the  big  cities,  to  make,  as  he 
said,  timber  deals ;  and  finding  life  there  so  much  more 
congenial  to  his  tastes  than  the  backwoods  existence,  he 
forthwith  made  it  necessary  to  spend  the  greater  portion 
of  the  year  there.  His  life  in  the  cities  became  one  of  the 
greatest  indulgence  and  luxury,  made  all  the  more  pos- 
sible by  the  severely  plain,  almost  economical,  lives  led 
by  his  wife  and  children.  Two  things  only  did  he  have 
to  do  in  return  for  the  generous — how  generous  probably 
only  he  had  any  idea — income  and  life  of  ease  that  be- 
came his.  One  was  to  leave  Dick  Swinton  to  manage  the 
camp  as  he  thought  best,  and  the  other  was  to  keep  his 
wife  plentifully  supplied  with  books.  The  first  was  easy, 
and  the  latter  imperative.  Though  perpetually  shabby 
and  almost  penniless,  Margaret  Silway  did  not  complain. 
But  she  made  a  copious  supply  of  books  the  price  of  un- 
questioning retirement.  For  the  rest,  Walter's  temper 
and  selfish  ways  were  such  that  those  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  him  generally  preferred  his  room  to  his 
company.  And  certainly  his  employees  were  one  and  all 
well  content  to  accept  the  authority  of  Dick  Swinton  in 
lieu  of  the  boss  himself. 

Margaret  Silway  lived  her  life  in  silence,  glad,  now 


A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE  23 

that  she  had  come  so  far,  to  be  left  alone.  As  the  two 
little  girls  grew  up  she  devoted  an  hour  or  so  to  t^em  each 
day,  teaching  them  to  read  and  write,  to  do  a  sttnple  sum 
in  arithmetic,  and  to  entertain  a  few  general  ideas  of 
geography.  That  was  all  she  could  manage  to  do.  Of  the 
manners,  customs,  conventionalities,  and  etiquette  of  civil- 
ized Hfe  they  knew,  of  course,  nothing;  of  religion  they 
— Gret  especially — knew  about  as  much  as  their  father's 
logs.  Gret  was  no  reader.  She  was  always  too  busy  with 
other  matters.  Or  else,  perhaps,  down  that  broad  avenue 
of  enlightenment  and  information  much  stray  knowledge 
might  have  filtered.  But  Eva,  the  younger  by  nearly  two 
years,  was  already  beginning  to  show  a  strong  liking  for 
books;  and  her  bewildered  little  mind  roamed  far  and 
wide  among  her  mother's  works  of  higher  thought, 
science  and  ultra-refined  fiction.  She  stayed  at  home 
and  read  and  pondered  and  dreamed,  while  Gret  roamed 
the  brush,  and  the  camp,  and  the  river. 

Probably  the  world,  if  it  had  been  there  to  judge, 
would  have  blamed  Margaret  Silway  for  the  way  she 
brought  up  her  girls,  or  rather  for  the  way  she  allowed 
them  to  grow  up.  But  there  were  none  to  know  whether 
she  was  doing  right  or  wrong.  Not  that  it  would  have 
made  the  least  difference  in  any  case.  Mrs.  Silway  was 
as  indifferent  to  public  opinion  as  she  was  to  everything 
else  in  life  but  her  books.  If  a  woman  so  profoundly 
indifferent  to  all  things  surrounding  her  could  be  termed 
such,  Margaret  Silway  must  be  called  a  cynic.  Not  the 
cynicism  born  of  blase  experience,  nor  a  cynicism  adopted 
after  a  long  course  of  self -inspection  and  moralizing; 
but  the  sad,  unconscious  cynicism  that  comes  to  a  man  or 
a  woman  who  has  lived  to  see  every  good  impulse,  every 
gentle  sentiment,  turn  into  so  much  mockery;  who  has 
lived  to  smother  every  fine  characteristic  in  order  to  aveid 
going  entirely  to  the  wall. 


24  GRET 

There  were  other  and  higher  courses  to  have  taken 
doubtless.  She  might  have  Hved  for  and  in  her  children. 
But  she  was  a  sensitive  woman,  hurt  to  the  heart's  core, 
and  she  mailed  herself  over  in  self-protection.  Life  was 
a  dismal  failure,  and  she  beat  a  retreat  out  of  it  into  the 
domain  of  mere  existence.  The  strong  sense  of  duty  and 
the  religious  fervor  of  her  maiden  days  she  gradually 
came  to  look  upon  as  the  merest  folly  of  youth;  and 
Haeckel,  Schopenhauer,  and  others  of  that  ilk,  did — or 
rather  ended — the  rest. 

When  dinner  was  over  Gret  left  the  room,  impatience 
in  her  heart,  but  without  any  undue  show  of  haste.  Once 
over  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  however,  and  she  flew  down  the 
steps,  springing  into  the  boat  with  such  force  that  it  was 
almost  half-way  across  the  stream  before  she  had  lifted 
an  oar.  She  ran  like  a  deer  into  the  camp,  and  was 
greeted  with  a  chorus  of  shouts  as  she  entered  the  dining- 
room. 

"Beef  's  all  gone,  Gret!" 

Gret  looked  unconcerned.  "Pie  is  n't,"  she  observed, 
her  eyes  wandering  down  the  row  of  faces  in  search  of 
Robin's. 

He  was  down  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  looking 
expectantly  toward  her ;  and  taking  her  half-pie  from  the 
meekly-waiting  Skookum,  Gret  went  down  and  climbed 
into  a  seat  by  Robin's  side.  She  took  up  a  fork,  and 
signed  to  Skookum  to  bring  her  a  cup  of  coffee.  Then 
she  turned  her  attention  to  Robin,  who,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  barely  found  time  to  glance  in  Dimsdale's 
window,  was  slightly  apprehensive. 

"Well— have  a  good  time  ?" 

'Tine,"  said  Robin  bravely ;  and  then,  knowing  full 
well  what  would  come  next,  "there  's  a  new  white  dress 
put  up  in  the  window." 

"What  kind  ?"  demanded  Gret. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE  25 

"Oh,  awfully  pretty,"  declared  Robin,  with  praise- 
worthy enthusiasm,  seeing  that  he  really  did  not  know 
whether  the  article  in  question  were  a  street-dress  or  a 
nightgown;  "with  frills  all  round." 

Gret  fixed  him  with  a  stern  eye.    **A11  round  what?" 

"Oh— the  bottom,  of  course,"  explained  Robin,  floun- 
dering a  little  at  first  and  recovering  with  a  jerk. 

Gret  regarded  him  with  steady  scorn  for  a  moment. 
"Don't  believe  you  know  anything  about  it,"  she  said 
with  conviction. 

"Don't  I?  Well,  wait  till  you  go  and  see  for  your- 
self !"  retorted  Robin. 

"Of  course.  That  's  what  I  '11  have  to  do."  And  Gret 
turned  her  attention  to  the  pie  with  an  air  of  disgust. 

Robin  hastened  to  make  amends,  and  to  show  that, 
though  uncommunicative  on  one  point,  he  was  not  on  all. 
"Jack  Gradel  was  down  at  the  Harbor,"  he  said  quickly. 
"And  what  do  you  think  ?" 

Gret  paused  in  the  act  of  lifting  a  piece  of  pie  to  her 
mouth.     Plainly  she  was  listening. 

"He  bought  Mary  Anselm  a  scarf-pin,"  concluded 
Robin  impressively. 

"What  kind?" 

"Large  blue  stone,  set  all  round  with  gold,"  replied 
Robin,  partially  closing  his  eyes  and  mentally  regarding 
with  admiration  the  jewel  in  question. 

"Blue  glass,"  said  Gret  summarily. 

"No,  it  was  n't  glass,"  replied  Robin  thoughtfully.  "It 
might  have  been  china.  You  know.  Jack  says  Mary  's  his 
girl,  and  he  's  going  to  marry  her  soon." 

"Humph !  His  old  Uncle  Gradel  will  see  about  that," 
said  Gret  with  a  comically  worldly-wise  air.  Jack  was 
an  adopted  child,  and  never  had  boy  a  sterner  foster- 
parent. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Robin  with  feeling.    He  was 


26  GRET 

situated  in  somewhat  similar  position  himself,  only  that 
his  uncle  really  was  a  blood  relative.  "His  uncle  knows 
that  the  fellow  must  marry  some  day.  Suppose  my  uncle 
will  stop  me  when  I—  ?" 

"You  bet,"  responded  Gret  with  more  brevity  than 
elegance. 

"Well,  you  '11  see,"  said  the  boy  hotly. 

**Oh,  yes — if  I  live  long  enough,"  in  the  peculiarly  sum- 
mary way  that  was  already  beginning  to  be  characteristic 
of  her. 

Robin  looked  sulky ;  at  the  same  time  in  his  bright  rest- 
less brown  eyes  a  faint  humorous  twinkle  appeared.  He 
was  just  thinking  if  Gret  only  knew  all !  Feeling  that 
Jack,  in  the  possession  of  a  girl,  had  got  considerably 
ahead  of  him  in  that  race  for  manhood  which  both  were 
running,  Robin  had  seized  on  the  absent  and  unconscious 
Gret  to  fill  the  vacancy,  though  in  his  inmost  heart  greatly 
doubting  Gret's  attitude  when  he  should  announce  his 
desire.  A  heated  discussion  upon  the  merits  of  their 
respective  lady-loves  had  then  ensued,  in  which  Robin, 
from  sheer  volubility,  had  come  off  victor. 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  what  was  left  of  Robin's  peace 
of  mind  that  Gret  was  no  mind-reader.  As  it  was,  she 
finished  her  pie  all  unconscious  of  her  new  dignity,  and 
then  went  over  to  where  Jake  and  Mike  Westerfeldt  were 
holding  council.  Robin  had  been  her  companion  from 
infancy;  he  was  always  ready  to  follow  where  she  led — 
or  to  be  more  particular,  to  risk  his  neck  where  she  risked 
hers.  At  the  same  time  she  considered  his  mind  and  in- 
tellect very  poor  affairs. 

Gret  went  home  early,  going  straight  to  her  room,  as 
was  generally  her  way.  To-night,  however,  though  she 
went  to  her  room,  she  did  not  go  to  bed.  Instead  she  sat 
by  the  window,  looking  thoughtfully  down  the  roof  of 
the  lean-to  wash-house.     How  manv  hundred  times,  in 


A  MYSTERIOUS  FIRE  27 

summer,  when  the  nights  were  hot  and  she  could  not 
sleep,  had  she  slipped  down  that  roof  and  off  into  the 
whispering  mystery  of  the  brush,  into  the  electric  hush 
of  the  night! 

Breakfast  in  the  Silway  household  was  not  until  about  ^ 
nine  o'clock,  and  before  attending  it  Gret  generally  went 
over  to  the  camp  for  advice  as  to  the  probable  events  of 
the  day— whether,  for  example,  there  was  any  likelihood 
of  a  raft  going  down,  or  whether  logs  were  going  to  be 
let  out  of  the  slough  and  taken  up  into  the  boom. 

This  morning,  as  she  approached  the  camp,  she  noticed 
Jake  and  Oly  standing  by  the  door  of  the  cook-house, 
deep  in  some  discussion  or  other.  As  Gret  drew  near 
they  ceased  talking,  and  stared  at  the  girl. 

Quite  unembarrassed,  Gret  approached,  and  returned 
the  stare  in  kind.    Finally  Oly  spoke. 

"Heard  the  news,  Gret?" 

Gret  looked  slightly  scornful.  *'How  could  I  have 
heard  any  news  when  I  Ve  only  just  this  moment  come?" 

"Thought  perhaps  you  might  have  seen  somebody  on 
the  landing,"  said  Oly,  shuffling.  "What  do  you  think? 
Widow  McCarty's  gulch  is  all  in  flames.  That  onery  fel- 
low won't  get  no  more  logs  off'n  it,  sure."  And  Oly  cast 
a  hasty  glance  at  Gret  before  lowering  his  eyes  to  the 
ground. 

"Serves  him  right,"  remarked  that  young  lady  unfeel- 
ingly. 

"Can't  think  how  a  fire  could  start  like  that,"  went  on 
Oly  blandly.  "Course,  it  's  been  a  dry  spring.  But  then 
—fires  don't  never  start  this  time  of  the  year." 

"Providence,  I  expect,"  suggested  Gret  serenely. 

"Good  thing,"  remarked  Jake,  speaking  for  the  first 
time,  "that  Providence  hit  upon  a  time  when  the  wind 
was  blowing  off  your  father's  timber." 

"Is  n't  it?"  agreed  Gret  affably. 


28  GRET 

But  she  returned  Jake's  gaze  with  a  stony,  expression- 
less stare,  and  presently  that  gentleman  retired  within 
the  cook-house— whether  to  cover  his  embarrassment  or 
to  laugh,  cannot  be  recorded. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  WERE  MARRIED 

GRET  stood  on  the  bluff  one  afternoon  in  spring, 
watching  Robin  Start's  fourth  attempt  to  hit  the 
floating  landing.  A  warm  March  had  melted  the  snows, 
and  the  little  Wishkah  was  full  to  overflowing.  The 
logs  rose  and  fell  and  strained  within  the  boom,  and  the 
landings  up  and  down  the  river  had  almost  reached  the 
limit  allowed  by  the  builders. 

The  past  year  had  made  quite  a  noticeable  change  in 
Gret,  though  probably  those  that  were  with  her  day  by 
day  did  not  realize  it.  It  had  added  about  two  inches  to 
her  height,  and  the  same  to  her  length  of  skirt ;  three  or 
four  inches  more  to  the  already  fine  breadth  of  chest,  and 
five  or  six  years  to  the  keen,  peculiar  mind. 

She  watched  Robin  land  with  a  thoughtful  narrowing 
of  the  eyes.  By  the  way  he  approached  her  up  the  bank 
she  knew  he  had  either  some  news  to  impart  which  he 
did  not  expect  would  be  acceptable,  or  a  request  to  prefer 
of  whose  fulfilment  he  was  in  doubt.  In  any  case  Gret 
was  prepared  to  be  contrary.  She  had  badly  wanted  to 
go  up  to  the  Forks  herself  that  morning,  but  had  not 
been  able  to ;  and  she  did  not  believe  in  hoarding  up  a  dis- 
appointment or  an  annoyance.  It  lost  most  of  its  sting 
when  passed  on. 

Robin  reached  the  top  of  the  bluff,  and  threw  himself 
on  the  mossy  sward.  "Current  's  awfully  strong,"  he  re- 
marked.   "Tide  's  not  turned,  either." 

29 


30  GRET 

"Yes— just,"  scanning  the  water  line  round  the  land- 
ing.   "And  then  the  river  's  very  full,  of  course." 

"Oh,  has  it  turned,  sure  ?"  queried  Robin  quickly,  rais- 
ing himself  from  the  leaning  attitude.  "Oh!"  Some 
thought  was  evidently  held  back  from  expression.  Then 
he  looked  up  over  his  shoulder  at  Gret.  "Guess  what 
Mary  Anselm  told  Jack  last  night." 

"How  could  I?"  demanded  Gret,  disgusted  with  the 
magnitude  of  the  suggestion. 

"Well,  she  told  him  she  was  n't  going  to  work  out  any 
more.  She  was  just  going  to  marry  Dave  Voyt,  and — 
and  do  nothing,  you  know." 

Gret  looked  unconvinced.  "Has  Dave  ever  asked  her?" 

"Oh  my,  yes.  Many  a  time.  But  think  of  marrying  a 
man  like  that — legs  all  shapes." 

"Earns  four  dollars  a  day,  though,"  observed  Gret 
dryly. 

"Yes — that  's  all  Mary  's  thinking  about,  of  course," 
said  Robin,  with  all  a  man's  contempt.  "But — just  think ! 
She  's  been  going  with  Jack  for  nearly  three  years  now. 
And  then  all  the  presents  he  's  given  her."  And  quite 
overcome  for  the  moment  by  contemplation  of  the  absent 
Mary's  mercenary  spirit,  Robin  looked  .with  moody,  dis- 
gusted eyes  upon  the  swollen  waters  of  the  Wishkah. 

Gret  said  nothing.  She  glanced  critically  at  Robin,  and 
then  waited  for  the  further  communication  that  she  knew 
was  to  come.    Suddenly  Robin's  countenance  brightened. 

"Well,  say,  do  you  know  what  I  told  Jack  I  'd  do  if  I 
was  he?" 

"No." 

"Why,  I  told  him  that  if  it  was  me,  I  *d  marry  her 
right  away  myself.  Darned  if  I  'd  let  any  fellow  get 
ahead  of  me  with  my  girl." 

"Yes."  Gret  laughed.  "His  old  Father  Gradel  would 
show  him." 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    31 

"Well,  I  think  he  's  going  to  do  it  just  the  same,"  said 
Robin  exultantly.  "He  's  going  down  to  the  Harbor  to- 
day, and  I  'm  going  with  him.  Then  I  Ve  told  him  we  '11 
just  jump  on  the  boat,  go  up  to  Monty ville  and  get  the 
license,  and  hurry  back.  Then  to-morrow  he  can  per- 
suade Mary  to  go  down  to  the  Harbor  with  him — and 
that  's  all  there  '11  be  to  it." 

"Oh,  no — not  much,"  said  Gret  mockingly,  after  a 
moment's  pause.  She  had  taken  due  note  of  the  point 
Robin  had  come  to  make.  He  wanted  to  go  down  to  the 
Harbor  without  her. 

"Of  course  not — really,"  agreed  Robin  gleefully,  clasp- 
ing his  knees  tightly.  "The  old  man  will  turn  them  out 
just  as  soon  as  they  strike  the  door." 

"Well?"  interrogated  Gret  scornfully.  "What  then? 
Jack  will  have  to  go  to  work  in  the  camp  or  somewhere, 
and  he  '11  get  some  kind  of  a  shack  for  Mary  to  keep 
house  in— like  Ruby  Laport  and  Tom  Stevens,  and  Nelly 
McGrevor  and  What-'s-his-name.  What  fun  will  that 
be  for  you?" 

But  Robin  refused  to '  have  his  gleeful  anticipations 
dashed,  and  presently  departed  to  find  Jack  in  a  state  of 
mild  excitement  that  Gret  was  far  from  sharing.  She 
herself  strolled  up  to  the  camp  after  a  while,  and  there 
got  into  an  argument  with  Jake  Connor  on  a  man's  moral 
right  to  be  allowed  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  if  he 
chooses.  Gret  had  in  mind  Jack  Gradel  when  she  started 
the  discussion,  but  long  before  the  end  of  the  argu- 
ment had  forgotten  the  cause  of  it;  and  when  at  last  she 
went  home,  the  affair  had  long  ago  been  relegated  to 
a  dim  place  among  the  insignificant  details  of  the 
day. 

So  slightly  did  she  think  of  the  matter,  and  so  far  was 
it  from  uppermost  in  her  mind,  that  she  was  honestly 
astonished  when  on  the  following  morning  Robin  stopped 


32  GRET 

her  on  the  board-walk  and  excitedly  informed  her  that 
he  had  "got  it." 

"Eh?"  said  Gret  blankly. 

"Why,  the  license — he  got  it,"  repeated  Robin  with 
indignant  empressement. 

"Oh!"  With  an  air  of  indifferent  enlightenment. 
"Well,  that  's  nothing.    Anybody  could  get  that." 

"Oh,  no,  you  can't.  He  had  to  say  they  were  both 
twenty-one,"  replied  Robin  promptly.  "He  's  going  to 
take  Mary  down  to  the  Harbor  to-morrow." 

"Very  Hkely  she  won't  have  him  after  all  the  bother," 
surmised  Gret  affably. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  will,"  confidently.  "I  don't  believe  she  's 
at  all  stuck  on  the  idea  of  marrying  Dave  Voyt  really." 

"Well,"  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "And  are  you  going 
down  to  the  Harbor  again,  too  ?" 

"Yes;  but  not  with  them  exactly.  Jack  knows  where 
to  find  me  when  he  wants  me.  Don't  you  want  to  come 
too,  Gret?" 

"Nope,"  decidedly.  "Do  you  mean,  to  see  them  get 
married?  That  's  nothing  to  see.  Jim  Ericsen  was  judge 
for  a  while— no,  justice  they  called  him — and  he  told 
me  how  it  was  done." 

"How  was  it  done?"  inquired  Robin  with  interest. 

"Oh,  easy.  Jim  said  the  first  time  two  people  came  to 
him  to  be  married  he  did  n't  know  exactly  what  to  do. 
He  wondered  what  you  had  to  say  to  make  people  mar- 
ried. He  never  had  been  married  himself,  and  did  n't 
know.  So  he  just  said,  'Do  you  want  this  man  for  a  hus- 
band?' 'Yes.'  'And  do  you  want  this  woman?'  'Yes.' 
'All  right.    You  're  man  and  wife.    Two  dollars.'  " 

"I  don't  believe  it  's  done  as  suddenly  as  that,"  said 
Robin  indignantly. 

"  'T  is,  too,"  declared  Gret.  "How  much  longer  do 
you  want  it  ?" 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    33 

"Oh,  well,  they  may  do  it  that  way,  but  it  is  n't  proper," 
said  Robin  unconvinced.  "Any  kind  of  old  man  can  be 
justice  of  the  peace  if  the  people  get  in  and  elect 
him— whether  he  knows  how  to  marry  people,  and  do 
things,  or  not.  Ericsen  did  n't  know  how  to  do  it ;  that 's 
all." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  what  's  it  matter?  You  're  mar- 
ried. That  's  the  main  thing,"  observed  the  practical 
Gret. 

"Oh,  yes — of  course,"  allowed  Robin  unwillingly. 
"But  you  don't  get  married  very  often,  and  you  don't 
want  it  done  all  kerwhop  like  that.  Getting  married  is 
the  main  fun." 

"Is  it  ?"  "  Gret  glanced  with  almost  a  woman's  mockery 
over  the  tall,  broad-shouldered  figure  before  her.  "You 
seem  to  know  all  about  it." 

Robin  flushed  slightly.  Like  all  of  his  fair  coloring, 
he  was  quick  to  anger,  and  Gret  annoyed  him  a  hundred 
times  a  day  by  her  apparently  light  estimate  of  his  years, 
which  were  nineteen,  and  his  personality,  which  he  fondly 
imagined  to  be  a  very  weighty  affair.  Gret  saw  the  flush 
and  paused,  laughing,  as  she  started  on  her  way  up  the 
board-walk  again. 

"Go  and  see  them  married,"  she  advised.  "Then  you  '11 
know  how  to  go  through  your  own  part  when  the  time 
comes — if  it  ever  does  come." 

Robin  looked  after  her  for  a  moment,  an  almost  spite- 
ful expression  in  his  eyes ;  then  he  continued  on  his  way 
down  to  the  landing  and  the  boat.  And  Gret  went  on 
her  way,  too,  in  the  opposite  direction,  amused,  until 
something  else  claimed  her  wide-open  attention.  She 
stopped  to  investigate  a  yellow- jackets'  nest  between  the 
two  boards  of  the  walk,  which  some  of  the  camp  boys  had 
burned  out  the  night  before.  Several  of  the  vicious  little 
insects  still  flew  back  and  forth  from  out  of  the  charred 


34  GRET 

and  blackened  entrance  to  the  nest,  and  Gret  saw  that 
the  job  was  not  well  done. 

Two  or  three  feet  below  her,  on  either  side  of  the  little 
trestle-way  on  which  she  walked,  stretched  the  marsh, 
delta-shaped,  and  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  great  cafioh 
from  the  sides  of  which  her  father  was  at  present  reaping 
golden  harvests.  Her  eyes  wandered  in  great,  though 
perhaps  unconscious,  love  over  the  dense  growth  that 
was  already  beginning  to  show  green  above  the  treacher- 
ous and  many-hued  marsh  grasses,  and  then  wandered 
farther  on  to  the  mountain-tops  and  the  jagged  line  of 
pines  that  the  clear  March  air  threw  up  in  sharp  relief. 
Many  people  love  nature  in  so  many  words — better  say, 
perhaps,  they  admire  her  in  that  way.  Others  love  her 
from  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  all  unconsciously,  as  the 
animals  do.  And  so  it  was  with  Gret.  It  was  the  breath 
of  her  nostrils ;  and  yet  she  would  have  been  puzzled  to 
have  fittingly  described  any  one  of  the  scenes  and  aspects 
that  her  strange  little  soul  adored. 

A  chain  of  logs,  hauled  by  the  noisy  donkey-engine, 
was  coming  down  the  skid-road  as  Gret  stepped  off  the 
trolley-way,  and  she  gave  a  short  petulant  sigh.  She  had 
not  known  the  logs  were  coming  down  so  early  or  she 
would  have  been  up  on  the  felling  grounds  long  ago.  For 
Gret  dearly  loved  coming  down  the  skid-road  on  the 
logs,  a  feat  of  balancing  which  only  an  experienced  camp 
hand  can  perform,  and  one  in  which,  next  to  seeing  her 
on  a  raft,  Dick  Swinton  hated  exceedingly  to  see  her  in- 
dulge. And  not  without  some  reason,  for  a  fall  from  the 
logs  while  on  the  skid-road  would  almost  inevitably  mean 
a  broken  limb.  These  roads  vary  in  height,  some  being 
almost  level  with  the  ground;  but  in  Silway^s  camp  the 
road  from  the  foot  of  the  canon  to  the  slough  was  four 
or  five  feet  high,  and  when  added  to  this  was  the  height 
of  the  descending  timber— anywhere  from  four  to  six 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED  35 

feet — a  tumble  down  to  the  marsh  below  was  a  serious 
affair. 

Gret  sat  down  on  the  platform  of  the  donkey  and 
watched  the  string  of  logs,  like  a  giant  caterpillar,  come 
wobbling  and  wriggling  down  the  uneven  bed  of  the  road. 
On  the  last  log  was  the  fine,  athletic  figure  of  the  over- 
seer, and  Gret  watched  his  progress  critically.  She  counted 
Dick  next  to  herself  in  the  balancing  act.  Then  she  sat 
and  watched  the  work  of  dumping  the  logs  into  the 
slough,  laughing  at  each  tremendous  splash  just  as  she 
had  laughed  a  hundred  times  before  and  would,  probably, 
a  hundred  times  again. 

Presently  all  was  done,  and  for  a  time  the  noisy  donkey 
was  still.  The  skid-men  stood  about  for  a  moment  before 
going  back  to  the  slide,  and  Dick  came  and  seated  him- 
self near  Gret. 

*'Got  ahead  of  you  this  time,  Gret,"  he  observed  affably. 

"That  's  what  you  did,"  agreed  that  young  lady  with 
equal  amiability.  ''What  are  you  going  to  do  now, 
Dick?" 

"Going  back  up,"  surveying  her  with  his  head  resting 
on  one  hand. 

"Another  chain  coming  down  ?" 

"Not  yet  awhile." 

"Could  n't  say  when  to  save  your  neck,  could  you?" 
mockingly. 

"Could  n't  to  save  yours,"  good-humo redly. 

"Don't  care.  I  '11  be  Johnny-on-the-spot  when  it  starts 
off,  just  the  same,"  with  a  confident  nod. 

"That  so  ?  Well,  pretty  soon  you  '11  have  to  be  a  good 
little  girl  and  stay  home." 

"Why  ?"  interested  at  once. 

"Because  your  father  's  coming." 

"When  ?"  quickly,  knowing  that  Dick's  information  on 
this  point  was  always  second  to  none. 


36  GRET 

"Some  time  this  month." 

"Will  he  be  here  long,  do  you  suppose  ?"  inquired  Gret 
dejectedly. 

"Oh,  a  week  or  two,  I  guess.  I  Ve  got  another  timber 
deal  on  for  him.  Old  Robnike's  claim,  back  of  the 
canon,  has  some  fine  timber  on  it,  and  he  's  willing  to 
sell." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  bring  the  deal  through  yourself, 
Dick,  just  as  you  did  the  last?"  inquired  Gret  coaxingly. 

"Too  much  kicking,"  replied  Dick  quietly.  "The  last 
deal  turned  out  fine,  but  at  first  the  boss  kicked  like  a  bay 
steer  about  it." 

"Pshaw!  What  's  his  kicking  amount  to?"  retorted 
Gret  with  fine  contempt. 

"Nothing.    Only  I  'm  not  taking  any." 

Gret  picked  up  a  piece  of  bark  and  nibbled  away  in- 
dustriously at.it,  a  cloud  gathering  on  her  face.  Dick 
glanced  at  her  slyly  and  smiled.  It  was  not  often  his 
turn,  but  when  it  did  come  he  was  not  above  teasing  her. 

"So  you  '11  have  to  be  good  for  two  whole  weeks — per- 
haps more,"  he  observed  with  a  great  show  of  satis- 
faction. 

Gret  looked  at  him ;  she  narrowed  her  eyes  as  if  taking 
the  perspective  of  a  dim  future,  and  drew  one  of  the 
deep  breaths  that  were  a  trick  of  hers. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly,  and  without  any  apparent  show 
of  irritation.  "Yes — I  '11  stay  at  home  and  fold  my  hands 
as  I  'm  expected  to  do.  But  not  for  long — not  for  many 
more  times.  Mother  is  getting  so  that  she  kicks  all  the 
time  about  my  being  out  and  about,  and  father,  when 
he  's  home,  makes  her  worse.  What  do  they  suppose  I  'm 
going  to  do — sit  on  the  doorstep  all  my  life?  But  don't 
you  forget — there  's  a  way  out  of  it  all,  and  I  'm  going 
to  find  it.  I  never  sat  down  and  thought  and  thought  and 
thought  about  a  thing  yet  but  it  came  to  me." 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED  37 

**Of  course,  there  's  a  way — a  natural  one  that  '11  come 
itself,"  said  Dick,  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  drift  of  her 
thoughts.  ''You  '11  grow  up  pretty  soon  now  and  get 
married." 

Gret's  clean-cut  lips  curled.    "Marry  what?" 

"A  man,  of  course." 

The  girl  glanced  at  him  long  and  severely.  "You  're 
too  smart  for  every-day  use,"  she  remarked  witheringly, 
and  then  jumped  off  the  platform  and  walked  coolly  away. 

Dick  watched  her  out  of  sight  as  she  walked  toward 
the  camp,  and  then  went  back  up  to  the  grounds,  vexed  to 
think  he  had,  merely  to  gratify  a  desire  to  tease,  awak- 
ened in  the  girl's  mind  a  very  threatening  train  of 
thought. 

Meanwhile  Gret  reached  the  camp,  and  entered  the 
cook-house.  Jake  was  seated  on  a  box,  a  chopping-bowl 
between  his  knees,  and  vigorously  pounding  away. 

"What  's  that  ?"  inquired  Gret  abruptly. 

"Dry  hash — will  be,"  replied  Jake,  with  a  covert  glance 
at  the  somewhat  sinister  face  of  the  girl. 

Gret  smiled.  "I  bet  it  '11  be  dry!"  She  sat  on  the 
usual  corner  of  the  table,  and  having  in  mind  what,  out 
of  a  sort  of  scornful  curiosity,  she  had  come  intending  to 
say,  she  looked  at  Jake  intently.    "Say,  Jake." 

"Yes.    What '11 1  say?" 

"Wait  till  I  tell  you.  Say— what  do  you  think  's  going 
to  come  of  me  ?" 

Jake  stopped  chopping.    "How?" 

"Did  n't  you  hear  me  ?  I  said  what  was  going  to  be- 
come of  me  ?" 

"Well—"    Jake  looked  perplexed.    "In  what  way  ?" 

"Any  way.  How  stupid  you  are !"  impatiently.  "Alto- 
gether, I  mean.  Suppose  I  '11  always  go  on  living  like  this  ?" 

"Oh !  Why,  of  course  not,"  promptly.  "You  '11  grow 
up  soon." 


38  GRET 

"No !"  sarcastically.  ''You  don't  say !  What  else  will 
I  dor 

"Get  married,  I  suppose,"  went  on  Jake,  cautiously. 

"Marry  what?"  inquired  Gret  with  the  sardonic  air  of 
one  who  has  laid  a  trap  and  now  waits  for  the  victim  to 
fall  in. 

"A  man,  to  be  sure.    What  else  ?" 

Gret  looked  positively  enraged.  She  glared  at  the  per- 
plexed Jake  for  a  second  or  so,  and  then,  the  combined 
intellect  of  Silway's  camp  proving  suddenly  too  much  for 
her  equanimity,  jumped  up  and  walked  suddenly  out  of 
the  cook-house. 

Jake  was  altogether  staggered  at  this  unlooked-for  ef- 
fect of  his  words,  and  wondered  vaguely  wherein  he  had 
blundered.  However,  he  put  away  a  full  half  of  her  fav- 
orite pie,  and  looked  to  the  evening  to  solve  the  problem. 
But  Gret  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  at  all.  For  the  rest 
of  that  day  she  was  seen  no  more  of  man. 

Robin  came  into  the  camp  late  in  the  evening,  seeking 
and  apparently  very  anxious  to  find  her.  But,  being  in- 
formed by  Jake  that  she  was  in  a  "mighty  queer  cue" 
when  last  seen,  he  abandoned  the  idea  of  going  up  to  the 
house  in  search  of  her,  and  decided  to  wait  for  the  mor- 
row with  what  patience  he  could. 

When  that  auspicious  morn  arrived,  Robin  arose  very 
early,  hurried  over  his  work,  went  about  a  little  expedi- 
tion that  he  had  in  mind,  and  then  rushed  down  to  the 
camp  to  look  for  Gret.  She  was  not  there — had  not  been 
seen  that  morning,  Jake  informed  him,  though  he  had  sent 
a  message  to  her  to  come  and  go  with  him  to  see  some 
bear-cubs;  so  Robin  started  off  for  the  Silway  house. 
Half-way  down  the  trolley-way,  however,  he  met  the  au- 
gust little  lady  sauntering  toward  him. 

Gret's  irritability  of  the  day  before  had  melted.  In- 
deed, her  equanimity  this  morning  was  almost  exasperat- 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    39 

ing— to  Robin  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  at  all 
events. 

"They  Ve  done  it— they  're  married!"  he  shouted,  while 
yet  fully  fifty  yards  distant. 

"They  have  ?"  Gret  condescended  to  be  interested,  and, 
what  was  still  more  important,  allowed  her  interest  to  be 
seen.    "What  did  they  do  ?    Where  did  they  go  ?" 

"Went  home  as  large  as  life,"  replied  Robin  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  "Jack  said  the  best  way  was  to  brave  it  out, 
and  go  home  and  see  if  it  would  work." 

"Well,  are  they  still  there,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  mysteriously.  "I  've  been  up  and 
looked  at  the  cabin  this  morning,  and—" 

"It  's  still  there,"  concluded  Gret  with  a  soft  laugh. 
"No  signs  of  a  storm— roof  on  and  all  complete?" 

Robin  nodded,  with  a  grin  of  delight.  "Yes.  No 
trunks  standing  out  in  the  yard,  and  no  dead  bodies." 

"Well,  why  did  n't  you  tell  Jack  to  come  and  tell  you 
how  it  all  turned  out?"  inquired  the  practical  Gret. 

"Did.  And  he  said  he  would,"  replied  Robin  quickly. 
"But,  you  bet,  if  things  turn  out  badly  he  won't.  Or,  if 
he  does,  he  won't  tell  the  truth." 

"Of  course  not,"  agreed  Gret.  "Well!"  She  half 
turned  to  continue  on  her  way  up  to  the  camp,  then  sud- 
denly thought  of  something.  "Oh,  what  did  Mary  have 
on  to  be  married  in  ?" 

"She  had  on  that  blue-and-white  striped  waist,"  an- 
swered Robin,  thankful  to  have  observed  that  much. 

"What  else?" 

"Oh— hat  and  skirt,  and—"  vaguely. 

Gret  looked  scornful,  but  knew  from  long  experience 
how  useless  it  was  to  try  to  extract  anything  more  definite. 
Robin  had  all  a  man's  unobservance  of  details  in  a  wo- 
man's dress— any  other  than  Gret,  that  is.  With  almost  all 
the  articles  of  her  wardrobe  he  was  painfully  familiar, 


40  GRET 

having  taken  part  in  the  long  struggle  previous  to  the  ob- 
taining of  each,  from  its  secret  selection  down  in  the  Har- 
bor store,  through  all  the  stages  of  alternate  hope  and 
despair,  to  the  final  state  of  doting  pride  consequent 
upon  possession.  So  Gret  abandoned  that  particular 
branch  of  inquiry,  and  sought  to  satisfy  her  curiosity 
upon  another. 

"Was  Mary  scared  when  she  was  going  to  be  married  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  with  a  smile  of  pleased  recollection.  "Jack 
had  to  just  pull  her  into  Justice  Hendricks's  office,  and  I 
gave  a  push  behind  and  she  went  in  suddenly.  And  then 
she  never  looked  up  the  whole  time— only  kept  on  saying, 
*Yes,  sir ;  yes,  sir,'  to  all  he  asked  her." 

"Well,  there  was  nothing  in  it— being  married— was 
there?"  inquired  Gret  confidently. 

"No-o,  not  much.  Still,  there  was  more  than  you  said. 
He  read  quite  a  rigmarole  out  of  a  book." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  disgustedly.  "That  's  how  he  did  it. 
Looked  in  an  Inquire-within  to  see  how  it  was  done,  I  bet. 
It  's  not  so  long  since  Hendricks  used  to  work  in  the  mill 
at  Sowasco.  I  can  remember  it.  What  does  he  know 
about  anything?" 

**Oh,  he  's  not  so  bad,"  remonstrated  Robin.  "He  was 
foreman  at  the  mill,  you  know.  He  's  saved  lots  of 
money,  too.  He  's  making  quite  a  street  in  front  of  his 
house." 

"Oh,  he  's  all  right  in  one  way,"  allowed  Gret  indiffer- 
ently. "But  it  seems  so  silly  for  a  plain  man  to  marry 
people." 

"He  can't  until  he  's  a  justice,"  responded  Robin. 
"What  kind  of  a  man  do  you  want  to  do  the  marrying?" 

Gret  had  no  very  distinct  ideas  on  the  subject  really. 
Her  brain  held  a  dim  image  of  some  being  of  colossal  dig- 
nity and  ponderous  weight  of  utterance,  but  a  being  all 
too  dim  to  outline  in  words,  and  she  passed  by  the  inquiry. 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    41 

"Well,  I  must  be  going,"  calmly.  'Jake  and  I  are  go- 
ing up  to  Shoney's  to  see  the  bear-cubs.  Go  and  see  if 
you  can't  find  Jack,  and  then  come  and  tell  me  what  he 
says." 

"Where  will  I  find  you  ?"  inquired  Robin  anxiously,  as 
the  girl  turned  away. 

"If  I  'm  not  in  the  camp,  I  '11  be  home,"  over  her 
shoulder. 

She  began  to  walk  briskly  toward  the  camp,  and  Robin 
strolled  with  undecided  step  toward  the  river.  He 
reached  the  bend  in  the  trolley-way  and  looked  lazily  lip 
the  river  past  the  alders  that  lined  the  slough;  then  he 
wheeled  round  and  shouted  loudly  to  the  retreating  Gret. 
Gret  paused  impatiently,  and  then,  judging  by  Robin's  ex- 
cited gesticulations  that  something  of  unusual  interest 
was  approaching  down  the  river,  ran  lightly  back,  catch- 
ing up  with  that  youth  by  the  landing.  A  boat  containing 
the — at  present — all-important  Jack  was  coming  down  the 
stream,  and  the  two  watched  his  approach  with  impa- 
tience. On  his  face,  as  he  got  near  them,  they  could  trace 
a  sort  of  subdued  elation,  and  the  two  cast  a  quick  glance 
of  surprise  at  one  another  as  they  waited. 

"Well  ?"  they  inquired  in  chorus  as  the  boat  grazed  the 
landing. 

"Well,  what?"  with  a  provoking  assumption  of 
ignorance. 

"Oh,  go  on,"  shouted  Robin.  "Tell  us  how  it  all  went 
oflF." 

"Fine !  Could  n't  be  better,"  airily.  "Mary  's  up  at  the 
cottage  doing  the  work,  and  I  'm  going  down  to  the  Har- 
bor with  eggs  and  to  get  corn-meal."  And  Jack  watched 
the  astonished  faces  of  his  listeners  with  keen  appre- 
ciation. 

"Then— then  your  old  man  did  n't  kick  at  all,"  gasped 
Robin. 


42  GRET 

"Tell  us,"  demanded  Gret,  giving  the  side  of  the  boat  a 
kick  that  nearly  sent  Jack  into  the  river. 

"All  right,"  laughing.  "I  '11  tell  you  just  how  it  all 
went.  You  know,"  with  a  glance  at  Robin,  "we  was  late 
for  supper,  and  when  we  got  to  the  door  the  old  man  was 
sitting  smoking,  waiting  for  me  to  come  and  help  get  sup- 
per. The  minute  he  looked  up,"  and  Jack  lifted  his  hand 
excitedly,  "I  knew  he  guessed  what  we  'd  done.  So  I  just 
said  'Dad,  we  got  married.'  He  took  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth.  'You  did?'  he  says.  And  he  pointed  toward  my 
bedroom.  'Well,  pack  your  duds  and  skip.'  I  knew  it 
was  n't  any  good  saying  anything,  so  I  went  to  my  room ; 
but  I  gave  Mary  the  wink  to  try  and  say  something  to 
smooth  him.  She  could  n't  think  of  nothing  to  say, 
though,  and  stood  looking  round  the  kitchen  helpless  like. 
Finally  it  struck  her  that  it  was  tough  on  the  old  man  to 
have  waited  for  his  supper  and  then  get  none,  and  she 
says,  awful  gentle,  'Shan't  I  get  your  supper,  sir,  while 
Jack  's  packing?'  'I  don't  care  what  you  do,'  says  Dad. 
So  Mary  goes  to  work  without  a  word.  There  was  n't 
any  bread,  only  stale  old  stuff,  and  Mary  made  hot  bis- 
cuits in  no  time,  and  you  know  she  's  a  crackerjack  at 
cooking.  When  supper  was  all  ready  she  called  me,  and  I 
came  and  sat  down  without  a  word,  too.  After  supper 
Mary  cleared  the  table  and  washed  the  dishes,  all  quiet 
and  gentle,  and  it  seemed  so  nice  for  me  and  the  old  man 
not  to  have  to  pitch  in  and  do  it  ourselves.  And  I  believe 
he  thought  so  too,  on  the  quiet.  Well,  so  I  just  quietly 
took  my  pipe  and  went  and  sat  alongside  Dad,  like  we  al- 
ways do  before  we  go  to  bed,  and  he  did  n't  say  a  word 
for  the  longest  while.  Then  he  said,  quite  cool,  T  see 
corn-meal  's  out  again.'  And  I  said,  'Well,  I  can  bring  it 
up  with  me  in  the  morning.  There  's  enough  eggs  to  be 
taken  down  anyway.'  And  he  did  n't  say  no,  I  was  n't  to, 
or  anything  about  it.    And  this  morning  Mary  got  up  and 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    43 

got  the  breakfast,  and  I  started  down  here,  and  the  old 
man  went  to  the  potato-field  just  the  same  as  if  we  'd  been 
like  this  for  years.  And  that  's  all  there  was  to  it,"  con- 
cluded Jack,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  delight. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Robin  spoke. 
"Gee  whiz !  I  never  thought  the  old  man  would  take  it 
like  that,"  he  said  truthfully  enough. 

"Me  neither,"  said  Jack  candidly.  "Although  I  knew 
there  's  never  no  telling  what  he  '11  do.  Always  does  just 
what  you  don't  expect  him  to  do." 

"And  so  now  you  and  Mary  will  just  go  on  living 
quietly  there  with  him?"  inquired  Gret.  "I  suppose 
you  're  awfully  tickled." 

"You  bei !  And  by  and  by  we  '11  get  the  old  man  to 
make  the  cottage  a  little  larger,"  said  Jack  enthusiasti- 
cally. "I  was  awful  scared  at  it— getting  married,  you 
know.  But  now  I  'm  glad  I  tackled  it."  And  he  beamed 
gratefully  on  Robin,  who  did  not,  however,  look  exactly 
as  gratified  as  might  be  expected.  "Well,  now  I  want  to 
get  my  eggs  down  before  Max  does— get  a  better  price. 
S'long!" 

And  bestowing  a  nod  that  might  have  contained  the 
least  little  bit  of  condescension  upon  his  two  friends,  the 
newly  married  man  rowed  off,  a  new  energy  in  his  bear- 
ing, a  new  purpose  giving  power  to  his  stroke. 

Robin  glanced  scornfully  after  him.  "Humph!  Very 
anxious  about  the  price  of  eggs  all  of  a  sudden.  Had  n't 
used  to  care  about  anything  before,  except  how  long  he 
could  stay  away." 

Gret  burst  out  laughing.  Whatever  else  had  failed,  she 
had  had  her  quota  of  amusement.  Robin's  face  alone  for 
the  last  few  minutes  had  been  a  treat. 

Gret  went  up  to  see  the  cubs,  and  on  the  way  talked 
the  affair  over  more  fully  with  the  erudite  Jake,  gaining 
much  light  on  a  hitherto  obscure  subject.     Marriage  to 


44  GRET 

her  had  always  seemed  one  of  the  most  idiotic  of  the 
many  freaks  of  custom  to  be  observed  abroad  among- 
mankind.  It  was  an  arrangement,  as  far  as  she  could 
see,  whereby  people  quarreled  incessantly  who  would  not 
otherwise  have  done  so,  and  by  which  people  were  kept 
together  when  often  apparently  longing  to  be  apart.  But 
Jake  explained  the  realities  that  underlay  the  superficial 
aspect  of  the  case.  He  pointed  out  that  marriage  was 
the  proper  goal  of  every  right-minded  woman,  providing, 
as  it  did,  a  home,  and  emancipation  from  that  thraldom 
of  servitude  to  which,  unless  particularly  fortunate,  all 
unmarried  women  come ;  and  showed  how  the  man  in- 
stantly became  of  certain  value  to,  and  a  part  and  parcel 
of,  the  community  to  which  he  belonged,  settling  down, 
acquiring  property,  and  in  due  time  becoming  sheriff, 
mayor,  or  something  of  that  kind.  Jake  declared  an 
unmarried  man  to  be  a  rudderless  ship  which  reached 
no  port,  amiably  inviting  his  companion  to  look  upon 
himself  as  witness  and  example  to  the  truth  of  the  saying. 
There  was  no  mention  in  Jake's  discourse  of  affection 
or  sentiment  as  a  possible  motive  for  the  joining  together 
of  any  two  people,  which  was  just  as  well.  As  it  was 
his  statements  were  unreservedly  accepted  by  Gret  as 
logical  and  conclusive;  any  leaning  toward  sentiment 
might  have  resulted  in  the  throwing  overboard  by  that 
eminently  practical  young  person  of  the  whole  argument. 
For  though  sentiment  is  commonly  accepted  as  the  com- 
mon heritage  of  youth,  there  was  very  little  of  it  shown 
in  the  lives  of  the  dwellers  on  the  Wishkah.  Ranchers 
principally,  except  for  a  few  loggers'  families,  and  for 
the  most  part  of  Scandinavian  nationality,  they  married 
young  and  settled  down  to  their  humdrum  lives  with  a 
stolidity  that  effectually  hid— if  there  was  any  to  hide— 
the  sentiment  that  provoked  marriage.  It  seemed  for  the 
most  part  a  purely  business  arrangement,  necessary  to  the 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    45 

securing  of  a  home  on  the  one  hand  and  a  housekeeper 
on  the  other.  Quite  frequently,  as  Gret  had  observed, 
these  marriages  were  a  sad  failure  as  far  as  temperament 
and  any  attempt  at  unity  and  comfort  were  concerned. 
So,  in  the  light  both  of  her  observations  and  her  rea- 
soning powers,  Gret  found  Jake's  theories  good  as  far  as 
they  went. 

Being  clear  now  on  all  the  main  points  of  the  marriage 
question,  Gret  rather  wished  to  see  Mary  and  compare 
personal  experience  with  theory.  Her  wish  did  not  ex- 
tend to  the  point  of  going  up  to  the  Gradel  cottage ;  but 
when  one  afternoon  she  met  Mary  face  to  face — or  rather 
boat  to  boat— on  the  river,  she  was  quick  to  row  up  and 
greet  her. 

Gret  had  known  Mary  all  her  life;  and  though  they 
were  really  of  very  different  stations  in  life,  yet  neither 
had  the  faintest  realization  of  this  difference,  and  were, 
moreover,  among  a  people  that  took  very  little  notice  of 
it.  Consequently  they  were  perfectly  familiar  with  each 
other,  though  never  chummy.  But  this  was  merely  be- 
cai5se  a  girl  of  Mary's  temperament  never  could  be  any 
companion  for  a  girl  like  Gret. 

Gret's  greeting  was  brief  and  to  the  point.  "Hallo! 
Well,  how  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"Fine,"  responded  Mary  enthusiastically,  at  no  loss  on 
account  of  the  vague  nature  of  Gret's  inquiry.  "Oh, 
Gret,  it  's  awful  fun  being  married.    You  should  do  it." 

Gret  passed  the  advice  over  without  comment,  and 
waited  for  further  revelations.' 

"You  know,"  went  on  the  satisfied  Mary,  "there  's  only 
just  a  bit  of  work  in  that  cottage,  and  nobody  to  tell  me 
how  it  ought  to  be  done,  and  when  I  should  get  through, 
and  all  that.    And  then  I  can  get  plenty  of  money,  too." 

"How  ?"  inquired  Gret  instantly. 

"Why,  they  give  me  money  to  go  down  and  get  things 


46  GRET 

for  the  house — for  cooking  and  all  that,"  explained 
Mary. 

"Well,  but  you  have  to  get  them— the  things,"  de- 
murred Gret,  only  half  seeing  the  point. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  airily ;  ''but  not  all,  I  say.  I  can  get 
along  with  half  of  what  they  used  to  cook  up  and  waste." 
Mary  leaned  across  the  boat  and  spoke  confidentially. 
"I  've  very  nearly  got  enough  already  to  get  that  ring  out 
of  the  store — you  know,  the  circle  with  the  opal  stones." 

Gret  nodded. 

"Is  old  Daddie  Gradel  nice  to  you  ?"  she  inquired  after 
a  moment. 

"Just  as  lovely  as  he  can  be,"  answered  Mary.  "You 
know,  he  don't  talk  very  much  to  anybody,  but  he  's  all 
right  to  me  just  the  same.  Never  kicks  about  anything. 
I  can  go  out  when  I  like,  and  come  in  when  I  get  ready,  so 
long  's  meals  are  on  time.  That 's  all  I  need  to  bother  my 
head  about." 

Gret  nodded  thoughtfully,  her  eyes  on  Mary's  face. 
It  would  have  been  no  good  that  young  lady's  giving  a 
long  tale  of  victory  if  her  face  had  in  any  way  belied  her 
words.  But  it  did  not.  Her  eyes  were  bright  and  en- 
thusiastic, and  her  whole  demeanor  full  of  hope  and  satis- 
faction, and  Gret  knew  that  she  was  shamming  nothing, 
hiding  nothing. 

Presently,  after  a  few  minutes  more  of  chatter,  Mary 
made  to  row  on.  "Else  I  '11  be  late  to  get  supper,"  she 
explained. 

"Then  you  'd  soon  see  whether  there  was  any  one  to  tell 
you  about  anything  or  not,"  observed  Gret  with  slight 
sarcasm. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  lightly.  "Only  it  's  no  good  mak- 
ing the  old  man  mad  at  the  start."  And  Mary  dipped 
oars  and  went  on  her  way  up  the  stream  again. 

Gret  rowed  on  her  way  also,  pondering  many  things 


HOW  JACK  AND  MARY  MARRIED    47 

as  she  went.  Evidently  Mary  had  done  a  pretty  good 
thing  for  herself,  and  perhaps  Dick  and  Jake  had  not 
been  quite  such  fools  when  they  said  she  would  grow  up 
some  day  and  marry — a  man. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GRET  REBELS 

MR.  SILWAY  came  down,  as  Dick  Swinton  had  pre- 
dicted, and  reposed  with  more  than  usual  discom- 
fort within  the  bosom  of  his  family.  Coming  from  the 
ordered  regularity  of  a  first-class  hotel,  and  from  the  bus- 
tle and  civilization  of  a  big  city,  he  was  struck  afresh  and 
forcibly  with  the  air  of  stagnation  and  neglect  pervading 
the  quiet  house  on  the  bluff  that  he  dignified  by  the  name 
of  home.  Not  dreaming,  of  course,  of  taking  the  blame, 
or  any  share  of  it,  for  this  state  of  affairs,  he  promptly 
bestowed  it  upon  his  wife.  Or  rather,  he  attempted  to  be- 
stow it,  opening  the  campaign  with  Gret. 

That  young  lady  had  received  a  command  from  her 
mother  to  stay  at  home  during  her  father's  visit,  as  there 
would  inevitably  be  quite  sufficient  unpleasantness  within 
that  time  without  any  contributions  on  her  part.  And  re- 
ceiving it,  she  had  quite  intended  to  obey.  But  somehow 
or  other,  after  the  first  three  days,  it  had  seemed  a  mor- 
ally impossible  undertaking ;  never  had  so  many  entranc- 
ing projects  presented  themselves,  and  never  had  the 
camp  seemed  so  absorbingly  dear.  And  it  happened  sev- 
eral times  that,  slipping  hastily  and  secretly  back  from  va- 
rious expeditions,  Gret  ran  into  her  father  without  being 
able  to  give  an  altogether  satisfactory  account  of  her  ab- 
sence. Walter  Silway,  observing  the  migratory  habits  of 
his  elder  daughter,  decided  that  something  must  be  done 
at  once— by  some  one  else. 

48 


GRET  REBELS  49 

"Why  do  you  let  that  girl  run  all  over  the  place  as  she 
does  ?"  he  demanded  of  his  wife  one  day.  His  tone  was 
magisterial,  and  his  manner  righteous.  He  had  just  been 
endeavoring  to  extract  from  Gret  an  account  of  her  do- 
ings since  the  morning,  when  he  last  remembered  to  have 
seen  her,  discovering  with  rising  irritation  that  he  might 
just  as  well  try  to  extract  information  from  one  of  his 
logs. 

Mrs.  Silway  put  down  her  book,  placing  it  carefully 
face  downward  on  her  knee  so  as  to  readily  find  her  place 
again  on  resuming  it.  "What  did  you  say  ?  I  was  hardly 
listening." 

Mr.  Silway  felt  that  the  magisterial  effect  was  marred, 
and  was  further  irritated. 

"Can't  you  find  duties  for  Gret  to  do  about  the  house, 
instead  of  having  her  romping  over  the  camps  as  she 
does?" 

"Oh,  no;  there  's  nothing  for  her  to  do  about  the 
house,"  replied  Mrs.  Silway  with  unconcern.  "Lizzie 
attends  to  all  that  sort  of  thing  perfectly." 

"Well,  she  ought  to  have  something  to  do,"  retorted  Sil- 
way, his  sentences,  as  was  usual  when  his  temper  began 
to  rise,  ending  in  a  high  falsetto.  "It  's  preposterous  the 
way  she  's  growing  up." 

"Indeed,  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  assented  Mrs.  Silway 
serenely.  "That  's  why  I  'm  so  amazed  that  you  don't 
send  her  to  some  good  school.  She  ought  to  have  gone 
away  at  least  two  years  ago." 

"Away— send  her  away  to  school !"  Silway  glared  at 
his  unmoved  wife.  "What  stuff  you  talk!  That  would 
cost  hundreds  of  dollars  a  year.  How  do  you  suppose  I 
could  afford  that  as  business  is  at  present  ?" 

"Easily.  By  staying  at  home  a  little  more,  or  at  all 
events  by  staying  at  a  moderate-priced  hotel  instead  of 
the  swellest  in  the  city,  and  by  running  with  a  set  of  men 
4 


50  GRET 

nearer  your  own  station  in  life  instead  of  a  set  of  men — 
single  men— whose  incomes  go  into  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands," explained  Mrs.  Silway  coolly. 

Walter  Silway  sat  and  stared  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
wrath  mingled  with  amaze.  He  had  never  credited  his 
bookish  wife  with  any  very  clear  business  views,  or  any 
particularly  lucid  ideas  as  to  his  income  and  its  possibili- 
ties. Moreover,  he  had  certainly  never  dreamed  but 
that  his  artistic  account  of  the  strenuous  business  life  he 
was  always  supposed  to  lead  had  been  accepted  without 
the  faintest  questioning.  He  was  decidedly  staggered, 
and  for  a  wonder  did  not  think  of  arguing  or  denying.  It 
hardly  seemed  of  use  in  the  face  of  the  undisturbed  wo- 
man before  him,  with  her  infinite  quiet  contempt.  So,  in- 
stead of  replying  to  her  obnoxious  statement  of  possibil- 
ities, he  branched  off  in  another  direction. 

"It  's  ridiculous  to  send  girls  to  expensive  colleges,  un- 
less—unless you  want  them  to  follow  some  profession  or 
to  teach,"  he  observed  with  an  air  of  authority.  "You 
could  educate  them  quite  sufficiently  yourself  at  home. 
You  have  a  fine  education.  They  won't  need  any  more 
than  you  have." 

"That  is  an  open  question,"  replied  Mrs.  Silway  evenly. 
"However,  we  won't  argue  the  point.  I  don't  intend  to 
try.  It  's  not  necessary.  You  're  well  able  to  do  some- 
thing for  Gret.  I  'vc  done  my  share;  now  do  yours.  I 
don't  suppose  you  will ;  and  I  'm  aware  that  your  neglect 
of  duty  will  not  condone  mine.  But  when  the  reckoning 
comes,  I  'm  willing  to  take  my  share  of  the  punishment — 
knowing  that  you  will  get  yours."  And  for  a  moment  the 
feelings  long  since  smothered  and  laid  away  in  her  soul 
awoke  and  gleamed  from  out  the  cold,  serene  eyes. 

Her  husband  stared  across  at  her  again,  startled  once 
more  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  so  rarely  now  that  he 
could  rouse  her  to  any  extent,  nag  though  he  might,  and 


CxRET  REBELS  51 

frequently  did,  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  He  particularly  dis- 
liked the  exhibition  of  feeling  when  made,  however,  and 
when  he  began  again  it  was  in  a  wailing,  reproachful  fal- 
setto. 

"There  you  are,  you  see.  That  's  the  spirit  you  're  in- 
fusing into  these  girls.  No  wonder  they  're  obstinate  and 
wild!" 

But  Mrs.  Silway  had  taken  up  her  book  again;  and 
though  her  lord  and  master  discoursed  at  full  length  for 
twenty  minutes  or  more,  she  heard  him  not,  or,  if  she  did, 
gave  no  sign. 

Though  when  speaking  of  his  offspring  Silway  always 
referred  to  them  in  plural  terms,  in  reality  he  had  no  mis- 
givings whatever  concerning  Eva.  That  gentle,  dreamy- 
eyed  maiden  was  generally  to  be  seen  either  reading  under 
the  big  fir,  petting  the  irascible  jackdaw,  or  lying  on  the 
bluff  gazing  up  and  down  the  river  in  solitary  content. 
Plainly  she  was  never  going  to  give  any  trouble.  Of 
course,  Gret,  so  much  the  stronger  personality,  could  have 
wielded  unbounded  influence  over  the  younger  girl  had 
she  chosen;  but  Mr.  Silway  was  pleased  to  observe  that 
she  did  not  seem  to  so  choose.  Eva  adored  her  sister,  but 
her  adoration  took  the  form  of  hanging  like  one  fascin- 
ated about  that  enterprising  individual  when  at  home ;  she 
never  attempted  to  follow  her  or  share  in  any  of  her  ex- 
ploits. For  one  thing,  Eva  was  physically  incapable  of 
sharing  to  any  great  extent  in  Gret's  life.  Though  not 
exactly  delicate,  she  was  cast  in  a  rather  fragile  mold, 
and  could  not  ever  hope  to  emulate  the  lithe  and  tireless 
Gret.  And  then  again  her  inclinations  did  not  lie  in  any- 
thing like  the  same  directions ;  her  temperament  was  lan- 
guid, and  she  was  almost  painfully  shy.  To  go  about 
among  the  men  as  Gret  did  would  have  been  torture  to 
her.  But  she  dearly  loved  Gret  for  all  that,  considering 
her  the  very  flower  of  maidenly  perfection.    However,  at 


52  GRET 

present  Mr.  Silway  was  not  borrowing  trouble  beyond 
the  fact  that  Gret  was  flying  helter-skelter  over  the  coun- 
try, holding  his  name  up  to  the  public  notice  and  himself 
as  a  father  up  to  possible  criticism. 

He  tried  calling  Gret  to  book  in  the  matter,  but  with 
no  perceptible  success.  Rising  unexpectedly  early  one 
morning,  he  encountered  that  young  woman  slipping 
home  from  a  visit  to  the  camp. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  demanded,  bringing  the 
girl  to  a  standstill  before  him. 

"Up  to  the  camp,"  replied  Gret  laconically.  She  was 
tired  of  prevaricating  and  evading,  and  decided  to  see 
what  straightforward  confession  would  produce. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  there?  Don't  you  know 
the  camp  's  no  place  for  a  girl  your  age?"  inquired  Mr. 
Silway  sternly. 

Gret  made  no  reply.  She  considered  this  statement  of 
her  father's  as  purely  a  matter  of  opinion. 

"It  's  terrible  the  way  your  mother  allows  you  to  run 
wild,"  he  went  on.  "Why  don't  you  have  more  respect 
for  yourself,  and  behave  like  other  young  ladies?" 

"How  do  they  behave?"  inquired  Gret  with  strictly 
impartial  interest,  wondering  at  the  same  time,  with  a 
sort  of  grim  humor,  whether  she  could  justly  lay  claim  to 
the  title  of  young  lady. 

"They  stay  at  home  and  conduct  themselves  with  dig- 
nity," said  her  father  impressively. 

Gret  burst  out  laughing.  She  could  not  help  it.  "Is 
that  all  they  do  all  their  lives  ?"  she  asked. 

And  then  the  laugh  died  away,  and  she  watched  curi- 
ously for  her  father's  answer.  Perhaps  he,  too,  would 
tell  her  that  she  would  one  day  grow  up  and  marry — a 
man.  But  he  did  not.  He  frowned  at  the  display  of 
levity,  coming  as  it  did  on  the  top  of  so  much  impressive- 
ness  on  his  part. 


GRET  REBELS  53 

"They  find  duties  round  their  homes,"  he  said  then, 
rather  at  a  loss  himself  to  provide  a  suitable  program  on 
such  short  notice.  "And  they  spend  a  portion  of  their 
time  trying  to  improve  themselves/' 

"How  do  they  do  that  ?"  demanded  Gret,  not  to  be  put 
off  with  vague  explanations.    "How  would  I  do  it?" 

"Read  and  study,"  said  Mr.  Silway,  who  did  not,  by 
the  way,  read  one  book  a  year  himself,  intrusting  the 
broadening  of  his  mind  solely  to  the  newspapers.  "There 
is  no  better  education  for  the  man  than  reading." 

"No  sense  in  reading  what  others  imagine  people  do- 
ing, when  you  can  go  out  and  see  for  yourself  what  they 
do  do,"  observed  Gret  scornfully. 

"You  need  not  take  up  fiction  if  it  does  not  appeal  to 
you,"  said  her  father  readily.  "There  are  histories,  books 
of  travel — in  fact,  books  of  instruction  on  any  subject  one 
might  like  to  take  up." 

"Can't  understand  all  those  unless  you  've  been  taught," 
responded  Gret,  with  more  or  less  truth.  "And  there  's 
nothing  for  me  to  do  about  the  house,  anyway.  Lizzie 
does  it  all,  and  she  would  not  let  me  bother  round  her. 
What  should  I  do  with  myself  all  the  days  and  weeks 
and  months?"  indignation  creeping  into  her  voice.  "Sit 
with  my  hands  folded  ?" 

"Other  girls  find  means  of  employing  themselves 
quietly  at  home,  and  so  can  you,"  replied  her  father 
evasively.  "At  all  events,  understand  me  once  for  all : 
I  won't  have  you  flying  all  over  the  woods  and  camps." 

Gret  made  no  reply,  but  she  looked  her  father  in  the 
eyes  for  a  moment.  Her  own  eyes  widened  with  the 
flame  of  an  indomitable  spirit,  and  she  drew  one  of  those 
deep  breaths  that  actually  seemed  to  swell  her  whole 
inches  in  height  and  breadth.  Then  she  turned  and 
walked  away,  leaving  Mr.  Silway  divided  between  anger 
and  amazement.     It  had  suddenly  been  revealed  to  him 


54  GRET 

that  in  the  future — and  the  very  near  future  at  that — 
unless  something  lucky  intervened,  Gret  would  be  a  very 
uncomfortable  quantity  to  deal  with. 

As  for  Gret,  she  walked  into  the  house,  in  a  rage.  She 
was  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  life  of  the  aver- 
age girl  of  her  own  age  to  know  wherein  lay  the  differ- 
ence between  that  life  and  hers;  neither  could  she  quite 
discern  where  the  discrepancy  came  in  between  what  was 
right  and  possible  under  existing  circumstances  and  what 
was  demanded  of  her,  but  a  strong  sense  of  injustice  was 
upon  her. 

She  went  up  to  her  own  little  room,  and  stood  at  the 
window  for  a  few  minutes,  looking  out,  but  seeing  noth- 
ing that  was  before  her.  Suddenly,  with  a  look  of  defi- 
ance on  her  face,  she  walked  straight  out  of  the  house 
and  down  to  the  river,  jumped  into  her  boat  and  began 
to  row  upward. 

The  tide  was  against  her,  but  Gret  was  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise.  The  little  river  was  influenced  quite 
strongly  by  the  tides,  and  pulling  against  them  was  no 
mean  task ;  but  Gret  wanted  something  upon  which  to 
expend  her  rage,  and  sent  the  boat  up-stream  in  vicious 
jerks.  Presently  she  came  in  front  of  the  Orchards,  the 
pleasant  and  fertile  domains  of  old  Start,  Robin's  uncle. 
For  twenty  years  the  old  man  had  stumped  and  graded 
and  planted,  and  now  his  place  was  the  one  oasis  of  green 
sward  and  full  orchards  among  all  the  surrounding  sea 
of  brush  and  sheer  wild  growth.  Robin  was  standing  on 
the  pretty  vine-clad  porch  of  the  house,  and  Gret  coolly 
turned  her  boat  toward  the  landing. 

"Where  are  you  going  ?"  he  demanded,  rushing  breath- 
lessly down  to  meet  her. 

''Up  to  Spirit  Lake." 

Robin  stared.    "Where  's  your  father  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Home." 


GRET  REBELS  55 

Glancing  at  the  half -sullen  shadow  on  the  girl's  face, 
Robin  divined  that  there  had  been  friction  at  home.  He 
knew  Gret  too  well,  however,  to  ask  questions.  So  he 
stepped  into  the  boat  without  any  remark,  and,  without 
a  word  also  Gret  rowed  off  round  the  bend. 

"Going  up  by  the  trail  ?"  inquired  Robin,  as  they  tied  up 
the  boat. 

"Nope,"  said  Gret  shortly,  and  Robin  groaned  in 
spirit. 

The  climb  up  the  mountains  to  the  lofty  perch  beneath 
the  first  White  Sister  was  about  the  stiff  est  piece  of  wood- 
climbing  to  be  found.  There  was  a  trail,  hard  for  the 
ignorant  to  discern,  that  wound  upward  and  somewhat 
softened  the  rigors  of  the  climb,  but  in  her  sterner  moods 
Gret  would  have  none  of  it. 

Robin  followed  her  upward,  face  deep  in  seas  of  salal, 
and  brushing  savagely  through  dense  thickets  of  salmon 
and  huckleberry,  creeping  along  fallen  timber  and  wading 
cautiously  through  swampy  groves  of  alder,  in  much 
secret  irritation.  He  preferred  the  easier  walks  of  life, 
yet  it  never  once  occurred  to  him  to  wish  he  had  not 
come.  As  long  as  he  and  she  had  known  each  other — 
which  comprised  all  the  conscious  years  of  Gret's  life — 
he  had  followed  her  in  all  her  undertakings,  and  he  could 
not  rest  knowing  she  was  upon  any  notable  expedition 
of  which  he  was  not  a  part. 

The  greatest  trials  and  the  worst  climbs,  however, 
come  to  an  end  sometime,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  they 
looked  on  the  lake's  serene  face  with  the  shadow  of  the 
White  Sister  thrown  across  it.  Gret  sighed  contentedly, 
and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  jagged  rocks  that  lined  the 
banks.  She  loved  the  lake,  and  knew  its  every  aspect. 
How  many  times,  obeying  the  marvelous  enchantment  of 
summer  nights,  had  she  slipped  down  the  lean-to  roof  and 
come  up  that  long  trail  through  the  whispering  brush 


56  GRET 

and  forest,  to  see  the  night  dreaming"  on  the  Spirit's  face, 
and  watch  the  dawn  awaken  in  its  opaHne  heart. 

There  was  only  one  drawback  to  Spirit  Lake  in  Gret's 
eyes.  Others  knew  of  it  beside  herself.  Gret  was  a 
miser  in  lakes.  As  children  she  and  Robin  had  exulted  in 
discovering  new  lakes  among  the  hills.  Of  course,  a 
binding  feature  of  the  contract  was  that  each  should 
disclose  to  the  other  the  result  of  the  various  explo rings, 
and  as  far  as  Robin  was  concerned  the  tacit  agreement 
was  doubtless  kept,  for  the-  sole  aim  of  his  search  was  to 
exhibit  the  result  of  his  labors  to  Gret.  But  Gret  her- 
self was  less  scrupulous.  There  were  one  or  two  ex- 
quisite little  lakes  that  she  never  could  bring  herself  to 
reveal ;  she  hoarded  them  as  a  woman  might  hoard  cov- 
eted pearls.  She  loved  to  steal  away  and  sit  on  their 
brims  and  gloat  over  the  fact  that  probably  none  but  she 
had  ever  looked  on  their  gemlike  faces.  But  Spirit  Lake 
was  known  to  many,  though  few  cared  to  climb  to  it ;  and 
so  Gret  felt  no  particular  proprietorship  in  it. 

She  sat  on  the  rock,  and  looked  into  the  bright  blue- 
green  water  meditatively.  Robin  sat  near,  kicking  his 
shoes  out  in  his  impatience,  but  wisely  saying  nothing; 
and  presently,  placated  by  his  long  and  deferential  silence, 
Gret  opened  the  conversation  in  her  usual  direct  way : 

"I  'm  going  to  alter  things  some  way,  Rob." 

"Yes?"  said  Robin  dutifully. 

"Yes."  Her  lip  curled  in  a  scornful  smile.  "What  do 
you  think  ?  Father  says  I  ought  to  stay  at  home  all  the 
time,  and  not  go  out  and  about  as  I  do.  Says  I  ought  to 
find  duties.  Find  them!  Just  to  be  doing  something, 
and  not  because  what  I  did  would  be  any  good.  Nice 
way  of  spending  one's  life  that  would  be,  would  n't 
it?" 

"Of  course— fool  idea,"  sympathized  Robin. 

"Yes.    Well,  I  'm  not  going  to  do  it !"    Gret  turned  her 


GRET  REBELS  57 

head  toward  her  companion.     'What  would  you  do  if 
you  were  me  ?"  she  inquired  confidentially. 

Robin  ran  his  hand  riotously  through  the  hair  that 
barely  escaped  being  gingery,  while  the  dark-brown 
eyes  that  were  in  curious  contrast  wandered  restlessly 
over  the  landscape.  It  was  a  great  honor,  of  course,  to 
be  invited  to  give  advice  to  Gret,  but  it  was  also  a  burden 
and  an  anxiety.  For  in  case  the  advice  when  tendered 
should  not  find  favor  in  her  eyes,  the  sequel  was  scorn 
and  discomfort.  However,  Rohin  had  but  one  thing  to 
say  in  this  instance,  and  it  was  useless  wasting  time  con- 
sidering how  it  would  be  taken. 

"I  don't  see  what  else  you  could  do  but  get  married — 
like  Mary  and  Jack  did." 

A  quick  mind-picture  of  Mary  and  the  old  man  Gradel, 
Jack  and  the  cottage,  passed  before  Gret's  eyes,  and  in- 
sensibly her  lip  curled.  Still,  she  took  no  verbal  exception 
to  Robin's  advice.  Substantially  it  was  the  same  as 
everybody  else's,  and  she  supposed  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  it.  Evidently  marriage  was  the  only  avenue 
open  to  the  maiden  who  aspired  to  any  degree  of  comfort, 
freedom  and  independence.  There  were  difficulties, 
though. 

"Who  could  I  marry?"  she  asked,  half  amused  and 
pleasantly  regardless  of  grammar. 

Robin  did  not  answer  this  question,  but  he  looked  sulky. 
In  all  his  matrimonial  dreams,  which  the  Gradel  affair  had 
made  many  and  frequent,  he  never  failed  to  install  Gret  as 
heroine.  Not  that  there  was  much  affection  lost  on  either 
side  beyond  just  what  came  of  long  association;  but  she 
was  the  only  girl  he  knew  of  anything  like  his  own  age 
and  standing,  and  then  he  had  followed  her  around  so 
much  that  he  could  not  imagine  any  other  state  of  affairs. 
Moreover,  the  ordeal  of  presenting  any  other  girl  as  his 
wfie  for  her  inspection  was  too  great  to  be  thought  of. 


S8  GRET 

No,  it  was  certainly  Gret  or  nothing,  and  he  was  surprised 
that  a  like  view  had  not  occurred  to  her. 

He  looked  at  her  covertly  and  reflectively  as  she  sat 
studying  the  Spirit's  placid  waters.  She  was  in  such 
mood  as  climaxes  are  made  of,  and  he  felt  it;  and  with  all 
a  youth's  love  of  crises  and — what  is  generally  synony- 
mous—change, he  longed  to  employ  that  mood  to  the  best 
advantage.  But  what  he  lacked  in  intuition  he  made  up  in 
knowledge,  not  of  Gret's  ways  but  the  uncertainty  of 
them.  So  he,  too,  sat  gazing  thoughtfully  before  him, 
afraid  to  break  in  on  her  mood  with  the  cold  reason  of 
words. 

He  wondered  when  Gret  would  deign  to  give  some 
clue  as  to  the  result,  or  at  all  events  the  trend,  of  her  de- 
liberations, and  to  that  end  sat  waiting  with  what  patience 
he  could.  When,  however,  she  did  at  last  speak  he  was 
knocked  summarily  off  the  heights  of  conjecture. 

"I  'm  hungry.  Which  do  you  suppose  is  the  nearest 
camp,  Rob?" 

"None,"  responded  Robin  a  trifle  sulkily.  "Casey's 
supply  base  is  the  nearest." 

"Oh,  no!"  confidently;  "that  's  a  good  five  miles  up. 
Murray's  camp  is  nearer  than  that— down,  too." 

"Be  lots  too  late  for  lunch,"  predicted  Robin  grimly. 

"That  does  n't  matter,"  answered  Gret  cheerfully. 
"Mrs.  Miner  cooks  there,  and  she  '11  let  us  go  into  the 
cook-house  and  find  what  we  can.  Sure  to  be  pies  left 
over.  Come  on !"  And  jumping  up,  she  threw  her  arms 
above  her  head  in  an  animal-like  stretching  movement, 
calling  into  life  and  attention  again  the  splendid  lithe 
body. 

Robin,  too,  rose,  still  somewhat  sulky.  He  felt  that  the 
golden  hour  of  opportunity  was  passing,  and  he  knew  not 
how  to  lay  hold  of  it.  Who  could  have  guessed  that  Gret 
would  go  off  at  a  tangent  like  that  ? 


GRET  REBELS  59 

Down  at  Murray's  camp,  with  a  plentiful  supply  of  cold 
beef,  pie  and  coffee  before  her,  and  Mrs.  Miner  chatter- 
ing busily  near,  Gret  was  apparently  herself  again.  But 
when,  after  spending  an  hour  or  two  at  the  camp,  they 
started  down  toward  home,  Robin  was  pleased  to  see  the 
brooding  cloud  which  was  the  outward  and  visible  sign 
of  an  inward  discontent  settle  back  on  his  companion's 
brow.  Several  times,  as  they  waded  and  plunged  down 
to  the  river,  Robin's  lips  parted  to  disclose  a  project  that 
had  lingered  in  his  mind  for  weeks  now,  and  as  many  times 
they  closed  again  irresolutely.  He  feared  to  cast  his 
heart's  ambition  into  the  uncertain  balance  of  her  mood. 

"Where  are  you  going— home?"  he  inquired,  as  they 
climbed  and  slid  down  the  treacherous  yielding  bank  into 
the  boat. 

"No;  to  the  camp  for  dinner,"  responded  Gret  lacon- 
ically. 

"Whistle  's  gone,"  observed  Robin,  searching  his  com- 
panion's face  with  narrow,  reflective  eyes. 

"They  won't  be  half  through  dinner,"  said  Gret,  pulling 
down  stream  with  strokes  whose  power  lost  impressive- 
ness  because  of  the  ease  with  which  they  were  taken. 
They  reached  the  landing  with  a  rush,  tied  up  the  boat, 
and  raced  up  the  board-way  across  the  marsh  like  two 
Indians. 

The  men  were  all  seated  at  dinner  in  the  long  barn- 
like shed.  As  Gret  and  Robin  appeared  on  the  scene  there 
was  a  slight  lull  in  what  seemed  to  be  an  animated  con- 
versation, and  Oly  jumped  up  to  give  Gret  her  accus- 
tomed seat  on  Dick's  right,  taking  his  own  usual  place 
opposite  her.  Joe,  the  Dago  flunkey,  who  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  departed  Skookum  of  cherished  memory, 
appeared  in  the  doorway  with  a  grin.  Gret  patted  the 
space  of  board  in  front  of  her  as  intimation  of  her  de- 
sires, and  Joe  disappeared,  still  grinning. 


6o  GRET 

Dick,  after  a  critical  side-glance  at  the  girl's  face,  went 
on  with  the  interrupted  conversation.  **Oh,  I  guess 
they  '11  come  out  all  right/' 

"How  can  they?"  demanded  Cassidy,  foreman  barker. 
"They  don't  begin  to  know  the  first  thing  about  running 
a  shingle-mill.    I  heard  'em  talking  to  the  boss  myself." 

"Maybe  they  '11  get  a  good  foreman,"  said  Dick  undis- 
turbed.   "He  won't  see  'em  done  up  altogether." 

"What  's  that  ?"  inquired  Gret,  interested  at  once. 

"Two  men  were  here  talking  to  the  boss  about  putting 
up  a  shingle-mill,"  explained  Cassidy  benevolently. 

"Yes,  and  one  of  them  was  a  Britisher,"  chimed  in  Oly. 
"You  should  just  have  heard  him,  Gret.  *Haw-Haw'!" 
And  Oly  mimicked  an  English  accent  to  a  nicety. 

Gret  looked  thoughtfully  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  broke  into  a  laugh.  "Where  's  he  going  to  build  it?" 
she  asked.    "Right  here  near  the  camp  ?" 

"On  the  marsh— a  little  below  the  landing,"  said  Cas- 
sidy. 

"And  honestly,  Gret,"  went  on  Oly,  his  whole  face 
beaming  with  appreciation  of  the  fun  of  the  thing.  "The 
Britisher  don't  know  a  shingle-mill  from  a  pump.  He 
keeps  saying,  'Well,  I  carnt  see— Haw !'  " 

Gret  laughed,  her  wicked,  bubbling  laugh.  "What 
does  n't  he  understand  ?" 

"He  don't  understand  nothing,"  declared  Oly  with  un- 
grammatical  impressiveness.  "I  '11  bet  you  he  could  n't 
tell  what  a  shingle  was  for  to  save  his  neck." 

"I  guess  the  Britisher  puts  up  most  of  the  money,  and 
the  other  fellow  puts  up  the  savvey,"  surmised  Cassidy. 

"Humph.  He  gets  off  cheap,  then,"  said  Oly  scorn- 
fully. 

"Oh,  well,  let  them  put  up  the  mill  if  they  want  to," 
said  Dick  indulgently.  "Even  if  they  can't  run  it,  it  '11  be 
there  for  somebody  else  to." 


GRET  REBELS  6i 

"Sure,"  allowed  Oly  magnanimously. 

This  brought  the  discussion  to  a  temporary  close,  and 
Dick  turned  his  attention  to  Gret.  "Father  's  been  look- 
ing for  you,"  he  informed  her. 

"That  so?  Did  n't  look  far  enough,  did  he?"  re- 
sponded Gret  dryly. 

"Suppose  not.    Where  were  you?" 

"Up  at  Spirit  Lake,"  with  a  faint  smile  of  satisfaction. 

Dick  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "Up  there  ?  What  made  you 
take  a  notion  to  go  up  there  ?" 

"Mad,"  explained  Gret  briefly. 

"Oh !  Well,  if  I  was  you  I  'd  go  home  and  go  right  to 
bed,  and  not  fuss  with  him,"  advised  Dick  gravely. 

"Yes — perhaps  I  will,"  assented  Gret  grudgingly. 

"Because  he  was  looking  all  over  for  you,"  went  on 
Dick;  "and  if  he  says  nothing  this  time,  don't  take  any 
more  chances,  Gret.  Stay  home  while  your  father  's 
down." 

"I  won't!"  responded  Gret  in  a  soft  voice,  but  with 
flaring  eyes.  "There  's  no  sense  in  it— no  sense  at  all— 
telling  a  person  to  sit  about  the  house  all  day !"  And  she 
attacked  the  piece  of  pie  in  front  of  her  with  such  smoth- 
ered rage  that  the  well-meaning  Dick  was  at  a  loss  what 
to  say  or  leave  unsaid. 

"Well,  he  's  only  home  now  and  again,"  he  observed 
soothingly. 

"Yes.  But  if  they  put  up  the  shingle-mill,  he  's  going 
to  be  home  quite  often,"  put  in  the  accommodating  Oly. 

"Don't  see  what  difference  that  '11  make  to  him,"  said 
Dick  gruffly. 

"More  company,  perhaps.  Anyway,  that  's  what  he 
told  those  men,"  insisted  Oly. 

Gret  finished  her  pie  in  silence,  rose,  and  without  a 
word  to  any  one  walked  out  of  the  room  and  away  to- 
ward the  skid-road. 


62  GRET 

"Never  said  'Good  night/  'Kiss  my  foot/  or  anything/' 
said  Oly  in  a  complaining  murmur. 

Robin  followed  Gret  out  quickly  and  quietly,  coming 
up  with  her  as  she  reached  the  skid-road.  But  he  said 
nothing  until  she  stepped  out  of  the  boat  upon  her  own 
landing,  and  then,  as  she  turned  to  mount  the  bluff-steps, 
he  asked  quietly : 

"Come  down  to  the  Harbor  to-morrow,  Gret?"  He 
waited  a  second.  "Perhaps  the  old  man  would  catch  you, 
though." 

This  last  was  a  deft  poke  at  the  still  hot  embers  of 
Gret's  resentment.  Her  lips  went  together  instantly  as 
she  answered,  "Don^t  care  if  he  does.    What  time?" 

Robin  considered  a  moment.  And  Gret,  considering 
the  tides  also,  failed  for  once  to  notice  that  he  avoided 
her  gaze,  and  that  there  was  a  sort  of  flushed,  conscious 
look  on  his  face. 

"Tide  's  well  turned  out  by  seven,  has  n't  it?"  he  in- 
quired. 

Gret  nodded. 

"Seven,  then— eh?" 

"All  right."  And  Gret  turned  once  more,  and  went  up 
the  steep  path,  a  look  of  added  determination  on  her  face. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE 

VERY  early  in  the  sweet,  chill  May  morning  Gret 
rose  and  made  a  full-dress  toilette.  The  hair  that 
was  usually  tied  away  in  any  style,  she  wound  in  smooth 
coils  at  the  back  of  her  head,  pinning  on  the  straw  sailor 
which,  to  her  everlasting  disgust,  was  all  she  had  in  the 
way  of  a  dress  hat.  Her  longest  skirt  and  her  best  waist, 
which  was  a  pink  cotton,  completed  her  holiday  attire. 

Yet  the  extreme  simplicity,  almost  poverty,  of  the 
girl's  attire,  could  not  hide  the  fine,  full-chested  figure, 
to  which  every  velvety,  obedient  muscle  lent  its  own 
divinely  appointed  line  of  grace.  And  Robin,  glancing 
up  at  her  from  the  boat  wherein  he  sat  waiting,  noted  this 
effect  with  especial  approval.  He  noted,  too,  with  ad- 
ditional satisfaction,  that  Gret  looked  quite  a  woman. 
And  so  she  did.  For  the  next  five  or  ten  years  she  would 
alter  very  little. 

She  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  they  rowed  quietly  off. 
"They  're  all  asleep  in  the  house  yet,"  she  observed  with 
satisfaction.    And  Robin  smiled  absently  in  reply. 

Both  young  people  seemed  to  be  somewhat  preoccupied 
as  they  rowed  down  toward  the  Harbor.  Otherwise  Gret 
would  certainly  have  noticed  that  the  usually  lazy,  jocular 
Robin  was  rowing  in  a  steady  purposeful  way  marvelous 
for  him ;  and  would,  moreover,  have  been  struck  with  the 
fact  that  he  did  not  once  during  the  whole  length  of  the 
journey  demand  that  she  take  a  turn  at  the  oars. 

63 


64  GRET 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time  they  seemed  to  reach  the 
little  landing  just  outside  the  town,  where  it  was  custom- 
ary for  loggers  and  ranchers  coming  down  the  river  to 
tie  up  their  boats.  Gret  got  out,  and  began  to  walk  in  a 
leisurely  way  toward  the  one  real  street  of  the  place, 
leaving  Robin  to  tie  up  and  follow. 

He  came  hurrying  after  her. 

"Come  with  me,  Gret,"  said  Robin  disjointedly,  "I  want 
to  do — to — to  show  you  something." 

Gret  was  astounded  and  hurried  after  him.  in  great 
curiosity.  It  was  so  surprising,  to  begin  with,  for  Robin 
to  have  a  project  all  his  own. 

They  hurried  up  the  street,  and  then  Robin  led  the  way 
down  the  plank-walk  and  on  to  the  little  wharf  against 
which  the  tiny  Montyville  steamer  lay.  She  was  whist- 
ling her  coming  departure,  and  the  mate  stood  at  the 
gang-plank  to  hasten  on  intending  passengers. 

Gret  turned  and  looked  questioningly  at  her  companion, 
and  he  motioned  her  to  go  on  board. 

"On  board  ?"  she  gasped  incredulously. 

"Yes."  Nervously.  "Go  on,  Gret.  I  '11  tell  you  all 
about  it  on  board.  See— others  are  coming  behind  us, 
and  you  are  stopping  up  the  gang-way.". 

Thus  adjured,  Gret  walked  on  board,  coolly  enough, 
crossed  the  little  deck  in  a  leisurely  way,  backed  herself 
against  the  poop  taffrail,  and  turned  on  Robin,  who  was 
following  just  behind. 

"What  are  you  going  to  Montyville  for?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"Don't  you  like  the  trip  ?"  inquired  Robin  evasively. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course  I  do,"  impatiently;  "but  you  're 
not  taking  me  for  that.    What  are  you  going  for?" 

"Gret,  don't  be  angry,  now,"  began  Robin,  scrubbing 
the  deck  assiduously  with  the  sole  of  his  shoe.  "I  knew 
if  I  told  you  about  it  before,  you  'd  get  thinking  it  over 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    65 

all  ways,  and  perhaps  would  n't  do  it.  But  you  know  you 
were  saying  that  you  were  going  to  get  away  from  home 
and  be  your  own  boss,  and  there  's  only  one  way  you  can 
do  that."  He  stopped,  scanning  her  stolid  face  anxiously. 
In  spite  of  its  stolidity,  though,  enlightenment  was  dawn- 
ing in  her  eyes.  "And  so,"  he  went  on,  coloring  furiously, 
**I  thought — "    He  stopped  again. 

''You  thought  we  'd  go  to  Monty ville  and  be  married," 
finished  the  girl  coolly. 

"Yes.  I  thought  we  'd  get  the  license  anyway.  Will 
you,  Gret?  Just  think  what  a  lovely  drop  you  'd  have 
on  your  father." 

Gret  made  no  reply,  but  stood  staring  in  half-amused 
amazement  at  her  companion.  To  think  that  he  had  actu- 
ally been  able  to  evolve  such  a  plan  in  his  own  mind.  It  was 
altogether  unprecedented,  and  Gret  was  divided  between 
amazement  and  a  sort  of  indignation  at  such  unwonted 
temerity.  She  felt  like  a  woman*  who  has  been  leading  a 
baby  round  by  the  hand  under  the  impression  that  it  could 
not  stand,  only  to  see  it  walk  off  when  occasion  presented. 
She  did  not  for  the  moment  consider  the  proposition  made 
to  her ;  but  presently  she  turned  her  face  toward  the  river, 
and,  while  the  boat  steamed  down  the  Wishkah,  reached 
the  confluence,  and  turned  up  the  more  important  Ne- 
canum,  she  divided  her  attention  between  the  scenery  and 
the  matter  in  hand. 

Gret  was  never  afraid,  and  never  hesitated,  immediately 
to  undertake  anything  that  appealed  either  to  her  inclina- 
tion or  her  sense  of  present  advisability.  And  that  for 
the  simple  reason  that  she  always  contrived  afterward  to 
arrange  the  consequences  pretty  much  to  suit  herself. 
Three  fourths  of  the  people  in  this  strange,  deluded  world 
are  handled  by  circumstances ;  the  remaining  fourth 
handle  them.  Either  course  is  open  to  all — a  fact  which 
is  realized  by  amazingly  few.     Gret  was  one  of  those 


66  GRET 

born  with  a  strong  conviction  that  circumstances,  and 
combinations  of  circumstances,  were  made  for  individual 
arrangement  according  to  the  needs  and  desires  of  the 
moment;  therefore  she  stood  at  all  times  unabashed  in 
the  face  of  things.  Therefore,  too,  she  considered  now 
merely  the  present  fitness  of  the  scheme  in  question.  If 
it  answered  for  the  present,  she  would  see  to  it  that  it 
answered  for  the  future.  Robin's  home,  and  of  course 
his  future  property,  was  sufficiently  ahead  of  Mary  Gra- 
del's  venture  to  be  practicable.  After  deliberation  on  most 
points  it  seemed  that  it  was,  on  the  whole,  about  as  good 
a  solution  of  present  difficulties  as  could  be  evolved  out 
of  materials  to  hand. 

Gret  was  too  entirely  ignorant  of  marriage  and  its  true 
significance  to  consider  it  from  any  but  the  most  super- 
ficial standpoint.  Really,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  she 
considered  it  from  any  but  a  purely  financial  one.  Of 
the  strong  woman  instincts,  the  keen  sense  of  the  digni- 
fied and  the  fit,  that  was  within  her  she  never  dreamed. 
Had  any  one  come  up  to  her  just  then  and,  taking  her 
aside,  explained  the  inner  mysteries  of  wifehood,  she 
would  have  turned  from  the  whole  project  with  loathing. 
As  it  was,  she  concluded  to  accept  the  proposition  for 
its  present  worth. 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  when  they  walked  off 
the  boat  at  Montyville,  she  made  no  remark  as  to  the 
result  of  her  deliberations,  but  merely  turned  to  her  com- 
panion with  a  matter-of-fact  question :  *'What  are  you 
going  to  do  first  ?" 

"Why,  I  thought,"  began  Robin,  brightening  up  im- 
mediately, "that  if  you  'd  wait  here  a  little  while,  I  'd  go 
and  get  that  fellow  that  helped  me  and  Jack  get  his 
license,  and  go  and  get  it  myself — ^the  license,  I  mean. 
And  say,  Gret,  I  was  thinking — don't  you  think,  after 
I  Ve  got  it,  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  be  married  right 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    67 

away  here,  where  nobody  knows  us?  We  don't  want  a 
lot  of  guys  watching  us  up  the  street  and  laughing,  as 
they  did  to  Jack." 

"I  should  say  not !"  frowning  at  the  mere  idea.  "Yes — 
go  and  get  it,  and  don't  be  long.  I  '11  wait  here,"  turning 
to  the  busy  little  water-front  with  an  air  of  content. 

Robin  hastened  off  immediately,  and  Gret  promptly 
forgot  everything  in  her  interest  in  the  novel  sights  along 
the  wharf —the  busy  little  passenger  steamers,  the  ferries, 
and  the  many  lumber-carrying  vessels  ranged  alongside. 
It  was  considerably  over  an  hour  before  Robin  got  back, 
but  Gret  had  not  noticed  the  lapse  of  time  in  the  least. 
Robin  was  alone  and  triumphant. 

"I  did  n't  tell  that  fellow  that  you  were  with  me,  else 
he  'd  have  come  along  just  to  see  what  sort  of  girl  you 
were,"  he  observed  with  an  air  of  contented  wisdom.  "I 
told  him  I  was  going  straight  on  to  Cathsamet.  We  'd 
have  had  a  job  shaking  him  if  I  had  n't.  And  I  Ve  got 
it,"  he  concluded  triumphantly,  waving  before  Gret's 
eyes  the  law's  permission  to  wed.  ''I  said  I  was  twenty- 
three  and  you  twenty-two." 

Gret  scanned  the  license  curiously,  and  then  looked  up 
for  a  further  recital  of  plans. 

"I  noticed  a  What-do-you-call-it's  office  on  a  street  as 
I  came  along,"  went  on  Robin,  who  had  been  waiting 
impatiently  for  the  perusal  of  the  license  to  end.  "Justice, 
I  mean.  It  's  a  real  estate  office,  too.  But  that  does  n't 
matter.    There  's  no  one  in  it,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,  that  '11  do,"  agreed  Gret,  turning  away  reluctantly 
from  the  enticing  water-front.  "Come  along.  Let  's  go 
and  get  it  over." 

Robin  led  the  way  up  the  street  with  appropriately 
beaming  eyes.  He  alone  realized  the  position,  and  in- 
tended to  extract  all  the  sweetness  and  thrilling  sentiment 
accorded  by  the  ages  to  marriage. 


k 


68  GRET 

"Don't  you  feel  funny,  Gret?"  he  asked  as  they  went 
up  the  street. 

"Funny?"  inquired  that  eminently  practical  being. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  I  mean  kind  of  shy?" 

Gret  turned  the  coolest  of  green-brown  eyes  on  her 
companion.  "Shy?  What  should  I  feel  shy  about? 
We  're  not  the  only  people  in  the  world  that  ever  got 
married." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  subdued,  and  struck  by  the  truth 
of  the  observation. 

"That  's  just  what  the  justice  is  there  for— one  of  the 
things,"  went  on  Gret.  "I  don't  see  why  I  should  be 
shyer  about  telling  him  to  marry  me  than  I  should  be 
about  telling  Mr.  Dimsdale  to  give  me  a  pound  of  tea. 
That  's  what  he  's  there  for." 

Robin's  sentiment  shrank  abashed  in  the  face  of  such 
withering  practicality,  and  he  said  no  more  until  they 
reached  Judge  Coe's  office. 

In  his  spare  moments— which  were  many— the  judge 
dabbled  in  real  estate.  The  rush  of  business  in  this  line 
did  not  tend  as  a  rule  seriously  to  interfere  with  his  legal 
and  official  duties;  but  as  it  happened  this  day  the  judge 
was  to  meet  after  luncheon  an  eastern  man  who  possessed 
every  attribute  of  an  ideal  buyer;  that  is,  he  had  money 
he  wanted  to  spend,  he  was  of  a  trusting  nature,  and  he 
was  totally  ignorant  of  the  value  of  western  lands  in  gen- 
eral and  of  the  judge's  own  lands — which  were  swamp 
half  the  year— in  particular.  So  he  eyed  the  young 
couple,  who  presented  themselves  before  him  just  as  he 
was  about  to  leave,  with  no  particular  favor,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  hurry  the  business  over.  He  glanced  hastily 
over  the  license,  called  to  the  woman  who  lived  in  the  rear 
of  the  building  to  come  and  bring  her  son  with  her  as 
witnesses,  and  then  ranged  the  two  in  front  of  him.    In 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    69 

all  probability,  at  some  time  or  other,  the  judge  had 
heard  of  Silway's  camp;  nevertheless,  just  now  the  two 
names  "Helen  Margaret  Silway"  and  "Robert  Wynne 
Start"  had  no  special  significance  in  his  eyes.  Neither 
was  the  fact  that  the  owners  of  them  were  unaccompa- 
nied by  friends.  So  many  young  people,  emigrants  many 
of  them,  working  in  camps  and  ranches  away  in  the 
woods  and  hills,  came  in  alone  to  be  married,  having  in 
many  instances  no  relatives  in  this  part  of  the  country  to 
be  interested  one  way  or  another. 

Perhaps  Judge  Coe  did  not  make  the  ceremony  quite  as 
short  as  Gret's  acquaintance  of  previous  mention,  but  he 
came  very  near  it.  And  Gret,  remembering  Robin's  the- 
ories as  to  the  proper  and  fitting  length  of  such  cere- 
monies, laughed  in  her  sleeve. 

"He  's  almost  as  quick  as  Ericsen,  is  n't  he?"  she  re- 
marked, as  they  fared  forth  down  the  street  again. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Robin  dreamily.  He  was  trying  to  real- 
ize it  all,  and  failing.  Presently,  however,  he  roused 
himself  and  treated  Gret  to  some  sweet  cider  and  cake, 
which  met  with  her  approval  more  than  anything  that  had 
yet  transpired.  Then  they  took  in  the  stores,  and  Gret 
mentally  selected  an  elaborate  trousseau  to  be  obtained 
some  time  in  the  dim  future.  Robin  sauntered  along  by 
her  side ;  but  he  continued  to  be  dreamy  and  was  inclined 
to  be  laconic,  and  it  was  fortunate  for  him  that  Gret  was 
too  much  taken  up  with  sight-seeing  to  notice  anything 
out  of  the  way  in  his  demeanor. 

Then  they  went  on  board  the  little  steamer  again,  and 
were  puflfed  oflf,  back  down  the  Necanum,  to  home  and 
happiness— or  whatever  else  might  be  in  store  for  them. 
And  here  it  was  that  Robin  made  his  first  mistake.  He 
delivered  himself  of  the  consolidated  result  of  his  late 
dreams  and  rhapsodies. 

By  nature  variable  and  impulsive,  given  to  chasing 


70  GRET 

with  great  ardor  anything  that  eluded  and  as  quickly- 
dropping  it  when  obtained,  Robin  was  full  of  a  shallow 
sentiment  more  rapid  in  its  ebb  and  flow  than  the  waters 
of  the  Wishkah.  If  he  had  been  brought  up  in  a  com- 
munity where  girls  were  plentiful,  he  would  have  done 
what  all  other  specimens  of  his  kind  do— have  fallen  in 
love  forty  times  a  month,  only  to  fall  out  again  as  quickly. 
Just  now  he  was  working  up  a  sentiment  over  Gret. 

"Gret,"  he  whispered,  as  they  leaned  together  watching 
the  busy  stern  wheel  foaming  on  its  way  through  the 
waters.    "Have  you  thought— I  'm  your  husband  now." 

Gret  straightened  herself  like  a  shot  from  her  leaning 
position  on  the  rail,  and  stared  at  Robin  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly presented  for  her  inspection  some  rare  zoological 
specimen.  She  looked  him  up  and  down  from  head  to 
foot,  and  then  up  and  down  again.  And  if  ever  there  was 
a  time  in  Robin's  life  when  it  was  the  height  of  folly  to 
court  a  close  personal  inspection,  then  was  the  time.  His 
face  was  flushed  and  beaming  with  the  excitement  of  the 
day,  but  toning  down  the  glow  of  youthful  enthusiasm 
was  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  dust  and  smut  from  the 
steamer;  his  hair,  from  frequent  removals  and  readjust- 
ings  of  his  cap,  stood  on  end  at  various  angles ;  and  his 
trousers,  which  looked  all  right  up  in  the  camp,  on  the 
level  deck  of  the  steamer  seemed  laughably  short.  Cap- 
ping all  was  an  expression  of  countenance  which  in  Gret's 
eyes  was  absolutely  invaluable  and  unique— a  mixture  of 
sheepishness,  sentiment  and  embarrassment.  She  looked 
him  over  and  over,  gathering  in  with  keen,  appreciative 
eyes  each  ridiculous  detail,  and  then  she  laughed  outright 
—a  bubbling,  gurgling  laugh  of  pure  mirth  that  would 
not  be  repressed.  Robin  colored  angrily,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  before  her,  astounded  and  altogether  taken 
aback.  But  the  more  Gret  tried  to  restrain  her  mirth,  the 
more  it  overcame  her :  in  fact,  she  simply  could  not  bear 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    71 

to  look  at  her  companion  just  then,  so  comically  did  he 
strike  her  in  the  light  of  his  new  and  recently  asserted 
relationship.  Finally,  seeing  no  signs  of  approaching 
penitence  or  cessation  of  mirth,  and  furiously  enraged, 
Robin  stalked  off  to  the  other  end  of  the  boat,  leaving 
Gret  to  laugh  out  her  fit  at  leisure.  This  she  did,  desist- 
ing finally  from  pure  exhaustion  and  leaning  her  back 
against  the  rail  again  with  a  little  sigh,  her  eyes  still  quiv- 
ering dangerously  and  her  eyes  still  sparkling.  Doubtless 
she  would  have  been  immediately  overcome  again  had 
Robin  approached  her  just  then ;  but,  fortunately,  he  kept 
sulkily  and  studiously  aloof  until  they  reached  Quellish 
Harbor.  Then  they  drifted  silently  together,  and  hurried 
through  the  little  town  to  the  boat  floating  idly  at  the 
logger's  steps ;  silently,  too,  they  got  in.  And  then  Robin 
began  to  row  gravely  up-stream,  never  so  much  as  glanc- 
ing at  the  girl  sitting  demurely  before  him. 

The  quick  spring  twilight  was  falling  on  the  land,  and 
a  sighing  little  night  wind  came  off  the  banks  and  ruffled 
the  darkening  surface  of  the  water.  And  as  he  rowed  the 
exaltation  of  the  day  died  down  in  Robin's  breast,  and  he 
was  assailed  by  a  great  flatness.  The  tide  of  ambition  and 
brave  intent,  that  had  surged  so  proudly  in  the  brightness 
of  the  day,  now  ebbed  as  rapidly,  and  on  its  gray  shores 
Robin  stood  suddenly  sobered.  He  had  desired  without 
troubling  to  reason,  had  schemed  without  ever  pausing  to 
note  the  result.  His  schemes,  as  far  as  they  went,  had 
reached  fruition,  and  his  desire  was  in  his  hands.  But, 
oh,  how  flat  are  the  table-lands  of  Attainment. 

When  the  home  of  one's  childhood  begins  to  take  its 
place  among  the  uncertainties  of  life,  it  is  time  to  reflect 
seriously.  And  really,  when  Robin  came  to  think  over  all 
points  of  the  case,  it  was  plain  that  much  was  yet  in  the 
lap  of  the  Fates.  His  uncle  was  not  so  grumpy  and 
morose  a  man  as  old  Gradel,  but  he  was  infinitely  more 


72  GRET 

peculiar.  He  might,  without  any  particular  fuss  or 
bother,  just  calmly  set  his  face  against  the  whole  thing, 
and  that  would  be  an  end  of  the  matter  as  far  as  Robin 
and  his  home  was  concerned.  If  he  said :  "Take  your 
wife,  and  go  get  a  home  of  your  own^"  there  would  be 
nothing  left  to  do  but  go.  And  positively,  when  Robin 
came  to  look  at  the  Great  Happening  with  his  uncle's 
eyes  it  had  very  little  to  recommend  it.  The  everlasting 
example,  the  great  parallel  Gradel  case,  was  in  reality  no 
parallel  and  no  example  at  all.  Gret  was  no  addition  to 
a  household.  She  could  not  cook  an  atom,  and  it  was 
doubtful  if  she  would  even  if  she  could ;  and  even  if  she 
could  and  would,  it  signified  nothing.  A  capable  widow, 
Mrs.  Bennett,  had  cooked  at  the  Orchards  for  years,  and 
was  not  likely  now  to  be  replaced  by  Gret,  especially  as 
old  Start  was  more  or  less  of  an  invalid,  having  bad  at- 
tacks of  heart  trouble,  and  the  widow,  who  had  studied 
him  and  his  health,  cooked  exactly  to  suit  him.  No,  there 
was  very  little  to  recommend  the  matter  to  his  uncle,  and 
Robin  marveled  that  he  had  not  thought  of  all  these 
things  before.  It  would  certainly  mean  getting  a  home 
for  himself,  and  working  hard  to  keep  it  up.  And  though, 
of  course,  it  was  awfully  nice  to  have  a  home  of  one's 
own  and  be  a  proper  married  man,  yet  the  somewhat  idle, 
easy  life  he  had  led  became  suddenly  pleasant  to  reflect 
upon.  However,  it  was  all  right— only,  night  was  a  par- 
ticularly gloomy  time  to  invite  a  fuss  and  get  ordered  out 
of  one's  home.  They  were  rounding  the  last  bend  of  the 
river  when  he  turned  suddenly  to  Gret.    "Say,  Gret." 

"Hum?" 

"Suppose  we  don't  say  anything  about  it  all  until  to- 
morrow, eh?" 

Even  in  the  failing  light  he  felt  the  instant  lowering  of 
her  eyes  to  his  face.  "Of  course  not.  You  won't  say 
anything  about  it  at  all  until  I  tell  you." 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    73 

Robin  was  silent,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  the  ques- 
tion. It  was  borne  in  unto  him  that,  after  all,  affairs  were 
in  Gretas  hands  more  than  his,  and  that  taking  thought 
for  the  morrow  in  his  case  was  waste  of  energy.  There 
was  a  decided  sense  of  relief,  however,  in  turning  the 
whole  affair  over  to  Gret,  and  Robin  gave  a  slight  sigh 
as  the  burden  of  directorship  fell  from  his  shoulders. 

*'Be  in  the  camp  any  time  to-morrow,  do  you  suppose?" 
he  inquired  as  Gret  jumped  to  the  landing. 

''Oh,  sure  to — some  time  or  other,"  thoughtfully ;  *'but 
I  don't  exactly  know  when.  Still,  I  '11  find  you  if  I  want 
you,"  with  a  calm  nod. 

Robin  returned  the  nod,  and  then,  as  Gret  went  into  the 
house,  began  to  row  swiftly  up-stream,  a  slightly  appre- 
hensive look  on  his  face  as  he  thought  of  his  uncle's 
probable  displeasure  at  his  prolonged  and  inexplicable  ab- 
sence. 

And  Gret,  making  a  detour  of  the  house,  slipped  into 
the  kitchen,  where  she  learned  with  satisfaction  that  her 
father  had  not  yet  returned  from  the  Harbor,  and  that 
Lizzie  had  thoughtfully  secreted  for  her  an  appropriate 
portion  of  the  evening  meal.  She  sat  down  with  peace  in 
her  heart  and  ate  heartily. 

By  and  by,  after  visiting  her  jackdaw,  asleep  on  his 
perch — an  honor  for  which  he  was  not  grateful— she 
went  to  bed.  She  lay  thinking  over  the  affair  of  the  day 
for  a  while ;  and  then,  suddenly  wearying,  she  banished  it 
all  from  her  mind  and  went  to  sleep. 

Her  father  was  at  the  breakfast-table  the  following 
morning  when  Gret  came  demurely  in  and  took  her  seat. 
He  glanced  at  her  with  disfavor,  apparently  having  it  in 
mind  to  say  something  anent  her  repeated  absences ;  ap- 
parently, too,  he  changed  his  mind,  for  he  said  nothing. 
He  was  about  to  return  to  town,  where  his  home  affairs 
would  cease  to  annoy,  and  then  he  was  busy  with  various 


74  GRET 

projects.  So  he  finished  his  breakfast  in  austere  silence, 
and  then  rose,  leaving  Gret  to  the  remainder  of  the  meal 
and  her  own  devices.  These  consisted  of  concluding  the 
breakfast  as  quickly  as  possible  and  getting  down  to  the 
river. 

Gret  had  a  little  expedition  in  mind,  and  she  lost  no 
time  in  getting  away  in  her  boat. 

At  a  certain  spot  she  tied  up  her  boat,  and  sauntered 
up  the  trail  to  the  Gradel  cottage.  It  was  built  on  the 
side  of  a  steep  ravine,  and  as  she  rounded  the  entrance  to 
it  the  Gradel  dog  came  barking  out  to  meet  her.  Close  on 
his  heels  came  Mary,  curious  to  see  who  had  broken  the 
habitual  solitude.  Her  eyes  brightened  on  beholding 
Gret.  Her  dishes  were  washed  and  the  stove  cleaned  off, 
and  she  had  time  for  a  long  chat— most  rare  and  delight- 
ful of  luxuries. 

"Come  on  in,  Gret,"  she  shouted,  with  perhaps  just  a 
speck  of  proprietorial  pride  in  her  voice.  This  speck, 
however,  was  immediately  detected,  and  Gret  sat  promptly 
down  on  a  clump  of  moss  and  brake. 

"No,  I  like  it  outside  better.    Come  and  sit  here,  Mary." 

Thus  adjured,  Mary  sat  down,  and  began  at  once  that 
confidential  chat  to  another  of  her  kind  for  which  her 
shallow,  girlish  soul  so  often  hungered.  Gret  did  little 
but  listen,  slowly  guiding  the  conversation  whither  she 
wanted  it.  And  at  last,  so  guided,  it  fell  on  Mary's  mar- 
riage. Then  Gret's  head  rested  on  her  hands,  and  leaning 
forward  she  asked  with  whispering  reverence  such  ques- 
tions concerning  matrimony  as  were  calculated  to  open 
the  flood-gates  of  Mary's  eloquence.  And  thus  it  was. 
Mary  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  with  many  sayings  of 
wisdom  led  her  into  the  Holy  of  Holies. 

When  the  tree  of  knowledge,  as  represented  by  Mary, 
was  stripped  bare  of  its  most  hidden  fruits,  Gret  took 
her  departure  and  rowed  down  to  the  camp.    She  went 


A  MARRIAGE  OF  CONVENIENCE    75 

straight  up  the  skid-road  on  her  way  to  the  felling 
grounds  to  catch  possibly  a  chain  of  logs  coming  down. 
She  paused  just  a  moment  to  look  down  into  the  camp 
from  her  elevation  on  the  road.  Jake  was  frying  onions 
for  the  noon  meal,  and  the  odor  of  his  endeavors  was 
wafted  on  the  breeze.    Gret  called  to  him. 

"Jake!    Say— Jake!" 

Jake  came  to  the  door  of  the  cook-house,  and  looked 
inquiringly  toward  the  skid-road. 

*'Say,  Jake,  you  're  all  right,  but  you  don't  know  it 
all!" 

And  leaving  him  in  open-mouthed  receipt  of  this  an- 
nouncement of  his  limitations,  Gret  went  lightly  on  her 
way. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GREAT  AFFRONT 

THE  shingle-mill  got  built  and  started  running— two 
facts  that  considerably  amazed  the  interested  spec- 
tators in  Silway's  camp.  Such  an  exhibition  of  utter 
ignorance  and  inexperience  of  the  lumber  business  as  that 
presented  by  Transome  and  Fonseker,  the  two  young 
mill-owners,  had  not  come  the  way  of  Silway's  men  be- 
fore, and  they  extracted  all  possible  fun  and  excitement 
contemplating  the  course  of  it.  Gradually,  however,  out 
of  all  the  delays,  errors  and  follies  surrounding  it  the  mill 
contrived  to  evolve  itself,  the  evolution  being  chiefly  due 
to  the  interest  taken  in  the  matter  by  Mr.  Silway.  As  it 
was  principally  due  to  his  remarks  and  suggestions  that 
the  young  men  in  the  first  place  decided  upon  a  shingle- 
mill  as  a  way  of  investing  their  capital  and  energy,  he 
felt  it  was  in  a  manner  incumbent  upon  him  to  see  them 
fairly  started  on  the  venture.  So  he  overlooked  to  a  con- 
siderable extent  the  building  of  the  structure,  and  helped 
in  the  choice  and  installation  of  the  machinery;  but  that 
done,  and  the  mill  ready  for  running,  he  felt  acquitted  of 
any  further  obligation  in  the  matter,  and  went  back  to  his 
beloved  city  with  a  soothing  sense  of  duty  fully  done. 

Then  Silway's  camp  beheld  the  rallying  about  the  new 
mill  of  all  the  scapegrace  shingle-weavers  and  sawyers 
who  could  not  obtain  a  steady  job  in  any  of  the  Harbor 
mills.  These  were  promptly  hired  upon  their  own  state- 
ment of  merits,  and  started  in  to  contribute  their  share 
to  that  failure  which  was  surely  imminent. 

76 


THE  GREAT  AFFRONT  ^7 

Gret  was  in  camp  for  supper,  one  night,  and  sat,  as  she 
always  did,  on  Dick's  right  and  opposite  Oly.  By  acci- 
dent, tacit  agreement,  or  something  never  expressed,  the 
main  intellects  of  the  camp  were  always  gathered  to- 
gether at  this  end  of  the  table.  Here,  in  the  rough  and 
unpolished,  were  socialists,  pessimists,  optimists  and  phi- 
lanthropists;  here,  too,  from  time  immemorial  had  Gret 
delivered  her  opinions  to  a  waiting  world.  The  new 
hands  at  the  camp  always  took  up  their  places  nearer  the 
foot  of  the  long  table;  those  round  Dick  on  either  side 
had  mostly  been  with  the  camp  for  more  or  less  lengthy 
periods.  And  these  old  hands  formed  quite  a  group; 
for  it  was  the  boast  of  the  men  at  Silway's  that  the  camp 
contained  more  old  hands  than  any  other  camp  to  be  men- 
tioned, partly  on  account  of  the  general  liking  for  the 
foreman,  and  partly  because  of  the  comfort  which,  as  far 
as  was  practicable  in  a  logging-camp,  he  took  care  to  pro- 
vide. 

Gret  sat  now,  listening  with  a  keen  narrowing  of  the 
eyes  as  each  man  added  his  item  of  views  about  the  new 
mill.    Finally  she  spoke. 

''Well,  now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said  the  girl,  her 
ringing,  incisive  tones  commanding  instant  attention. 
"You  're  all  pretty  mean;  that  's  all.  You  just  see  those 
men  making  fool  mistakes  and  wasting  their  money  with- 
out saying  a  word.  Why  don't  you  go  and  tell  them,  in- 
stead of  coming  here  and  laughing  at  them  ?" 

Oly  rose  up  in  his  seat  and  bent  half-way  across  the 
table  in  his  excitement.  "You  can't  do  it !  You  can't  do 
it!"  he  shouted.  "You  can't  teach  'em  nothing.  They 
know  it  all.  Why,  when  they  hired  that  Danny  Pfeiffer 
I  told  them  he  was  n't  no  more  of  a  shingle- weaver  than 
I  was.  But  Transome  said  he  knew  a  shingle-weaver 
when  he  saw  one,  and  as  long  as  Pfeiffer  suited  him  it 
was  all  right.    It 's  good  enough  for  'em,"  concluded  Oly, 


78  GRET 

subsiding  into  his  seat  once  more.  "All  they  get  is  good 
enough  for  'em !" 

"You  had  a  right  to  go  to  the  Englishman  about  it," 
observed  Jim  Caffrey,  foreman  "feller."  "He  's  the 
one  that  's  putting  up  the  stuff,  and  he  's  the  one  that  's 
losing  it,  I  reckon." 

But  Oly  shook  his  head.  "He  just  goes  to  Transome 
with  everything,  and  Transome  knows  it  all.  So,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

This  view  was  general,  and  the  subject  was  dropped 
for  the  time  being.  But  Gret  took  the  whole  matter 
under  advisement.  She  intended  to  look  into  it.  The 
underneath  cause  was  always  hers,  possibly  because  it 
generally  needed  fighting  for. 

Though  Gret  had  a  good  general  idea  of  the  workings 
of  a  shingle-mill,  yet  she  had  no  actual  and  specific  know- 
ledge concerning  it.  And  this  defect  she  proceeded  at 
once  to  rectify.  She  went  down  to  the  Harbor  and 
visited  the  foremost  mill  there.  She  was  known  to  all 
or  most  of  the  men,  and  her  questions,  which  were  most 
minute  and  far-reaching,  were  readily  answered.  She 
wandered  round,  too,  and  very  little  escaped  her  roving 
eyes.  Then  she  went  back  home,  and  subjected  the 
Transome-Fonseker  mill  to  a  like  scrutiny.  Then  she 
sought  Fonseker,  as  being  the  greatest  loser  and  there- 
fore the  most  injured  of  the  parties  concerned,  and  im- 
parted to  him  the  sum  total  of  her  investigations.  The 
pith  and  core  of  her  remarks  was,  that  his  logs  were 
being  sawn  up  in  rank  and  murderous  waste,  and  that  in 
order  to  make  the  mill  pay  it  must  turn  out  as  many 
shingles  in  one  day  as  now  it  did  in  a  week.  Fonseker 
was  considerably  staggered,  and,  as  Oly  had  said,  im- 
mediately sought  Transome.  And  Transome  was  just  as 
immediately  indignant.  Gret's  communications  cast  re- 
flections upon  his  ability  to  run  a  mill,  and  with  his  ex- 


THE  GREAT  AFFRONT  79 

perience  went  the  main  part  of  his  capital  in  the  concern. 
As  Oly  had  once  shrewdly  opined,  experience  was  about 
all  he  had,  and  in  this  his  poverty  was  apparent  to  all 
observers.  So,  now,  Transome  approached  Gret  upon 
the  first  opportunity. 

"You  're  a  smart  little  girl,"  he  began,  and  then 
paused,  the  patronizing  smile  dying  off  his  face.  He  was 
rather  surprised  at  the  flash  of  instant  anger  that  shot 
into  the  strange-colored  eyes  of  the  girl  before  him.  He 
resumed :  "You  know,  you  can  stuff  Fonseker  with 
anything.  That  's  dead  easy.  But  you  can't  stuff 
me.  I  know  your  father  wants  our  mill.  But  le  won't 
get  it.  I  'm  not  to  be  scared  out  of  it,  even  if  Fonseker 
is." 

Gret  made  no  reply;  she  merely  stood  looking  at  the 
speaker.  Secretly  she  was  at  first  considerably  taken 
aback,  such  a  base  view  of  her  motives  never  having  even 
presented  itself  to  her.  And  when  at  a  loss  she  invariably 
sought  refuge  in  silence.  Then,  when  she  had  regained 
mental  equilibrium,  the  whole  thing  did  not  seem  worth 
replying  to.  So  she  stood  silent,  her  eyes  narrowing  as 
she  surveyed  the  man  before  her  in  contemplative  per- 
spective. To  her,  many  as  were  the  types  of  men  she  had 
met,  he  was  a  new  specimen  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Then  she  turned  coolly  round,  listening  on  the  wind 
whether  the  hum  of  the  donkey  was  still  to  be  heard.  It 
was ;  and  she  went  down  to  the  boat  and  rowed  up  to  the 
camp. 

Very  few  things  required  a  greater  effort  on  Gret's 
part  than  to  be  confidential.  She  was  naturally  secretive. 
Very  little  that  went  in  at  the  gates  of  her  understanding 
ever  came  forth  again  over  the  threshold  of  her  lips.  But 
this  time  she  went  straight  to  Dick  Swinton  and  related 
all  that  had  just  transpired.  Dick's  rage  exceeded  Gret's 
bv  many  degrees. 


8o  GRET 

"The  dirty,  low-living  cur !"  he  said  in  heartfelt  tones. 
"If  he  was  n't  already  going  downhill  just  as  fast  and  as 
slick  as  he  can,  we  'd  show  him  a  thing  or  two.  Where  'd 
he  get  his  lumber  from  if  not  from  here?  And  how 
much  do  you  suppose  the  boss  would  let  him  have  if  he 
heard  how  he  's  talking?" 

Gret  laughed,  amused  at  the  rage  of  the  usually  quiet 
man,  and  perhaps  a  little  bit  touched  at  his  partizan  de- 
votion. "Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  expect  father  would  only 
say  it  served  me  right;  that  I  should  have  minded  my 
own  business.  Never  mind.  Transome's  finish  is  in  sight 
all  right  enough." 

And  with  that  the  incident  closed,  only  that  the  mill 
saw  her  no  more,  neither  could  either  of  its  proprietors 
approach  within  a  hundred  yards  of  her.  That  was  all 
as  far  as  she  was  concerned ;  but  several  effects  grew  out 
of  this  cause,  of  which  Gret  was  not  cognizant;  or,  if  so, 
only  by  degrees  did  it  dawn  upon  her.  To  begin  with,  in 
some  unspoken,  vague  way  it  got  about  that  Gret  had 
been  snubbed  down  at  the  mill,  and  neither  Transome  nor 
Fonseker  nor  any  of  their  employees  could  get  a  civil 
word  or  look  from  the  camp  fraternity.  Moreover,  and, 
more  important,  the  character  of  the  logs  supplied  began 
slowly  to  alter.  Up  to  this  neither  Dick  nor  any  of  his 
boom-hands  had  ever  attempted  to  take  the  least  advan- 
tage of  the  palpable  ignorance  and  incompetence  dis- 
played at  the  mill,  but  had  honestly  supplied  just  such 
quality  and  quantity  of  lumber  as  the  price  to  be  paid 
called  for.  Now  Dick  himself  was  the  first,  one  day,  to 
pass  a  poor  log  into  a  raft  about  to  be  towed  down  to 
the  mill. 

"What  's  it  matter?"  he  said  contemptuously.  "All 
these  fine  logs  are  just  sawn  up  so  as  to  be  half  wasted 
anyhow.    It  's  good  enough  for  'em." 

And  that  was  the  beginning.    Thereafter  if  any  really 


THE  GREAT  AFFRONT  8i 

fine  logs  got  wasted  down  at  the  mill,  they  did  not  come 
out  of  Silway's  boom. 

Matters  were  so  far  gone  beforehand,  however,  that  it 
is  doubtful  whether  this  really  hastened  the  end  very  ma- 
terially. Transome,  the  man  who  had  sworn  defiance  to 
failure,  was  the  very  man  to  precipitate  matters.  He  saw, 
as  he  could  not  very  well  help  seeing,  that  the  end  was  not 
very  far  distant;  and  he  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of 
withdrawing  at  once  while  there  might  still  be  something 
to  take.  So  one  afternoon  he  coolly  announced  that  he 
was  altogether  tired  of  the  lumber  business  and  intended 
to  sell  out.  Fonseker  could  either  buy  him  out,  or  he 
must  find  someone  else  to  take  over  his  half  of  the  con- 
cern. 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  remonstrated  Fonseker.  "Your 
half — what  did  you  put  in?" 

And  then  Transome  hastened  to  show  that  what  he  put 
in  signified  little  when  it  came  to  a  question  of  what  he 
should  take  out.  They  were  partners,  which  meant  that 
half  of  everything  was  his.  Otherwise,  what  did  Mr. 
Fonseker  suppose  he  had  been  wasting  time  fooling  about 
the  mill  all  these  months  for  ? 

Fonseker  at  first  argued,  then  became  enraged,  and 
finally  went  down  to  the  Harbor  to  consult  the  one  enter- 
prising attorney  residing  there.  To  his  dismay,  he  learned 
that  Transome  was  secure  in  his  demands.  The  mill  had 
been  built  under  contract  to  both  jointly;  all  sales  had 
been  made  in  the  name  of  both,  and  all  bills  been  paid 
likewise ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  written  agreement  to 
the  contrary,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  and  the  world  they 
were  equal  partners.  If  Fonseker  had  produced  all  the 
cash,  while  only  securing  to  himself  half  the  honor,  he 
had  only  himself  to  blame. 

"And  now,"  advised  the  attorney,  who,  if  he  was  not 
infallible  at  law,  was  deeply  versed  in  the  ways  of  men, 


82  GRET 

"you  just  go  home  and  let  things  go  on  as  they  are  for  a 
while  longer.  Unless  I  'm  mistaken,  he  '11  soon  offer  to 
compromise." 

''Well,  but  everything  will  go  to  smash  before  long," 
demurred  Fonseker  gloomily. 

"Not  right  away,  will  it?"  inquired  the  attorney 
sharply. 

"No-o — not  immediately,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  then,  he  won't  let  it  go  that  far  before  he  climbs 
down.  He  '11  be  afraid  of  getting  nothing.  If  he  offers 
to  take  a  small  sum  to  clear  out,  you  come  to  me,  and  I  '11 
fix  papers  quitting  him  of  all  claims  safely  enough." 

"Perhaps  he  '11  get  someone  to  buy  his  half,  as  he  calls 
it,"  observed  Fonseker  resentfully. 

"Oh,  he  may,"  agreed  the  attorney  easily.  "And  if  he 
does,  all  right.  You  '11  be  just  as  well  off  as  you  are  now, 
besides  being  rid  of  him  and  perhaps  having  more  capital 
to  put  in  the  mill." 

Fonseker  nodded.  "If  he  sells  out  to  me  at  some  price 
or  other,  what  shall  I  do  then  ?"  he  inquired  innocently. 

The  attorney  smiled.  "Why,  whatever  you  think  best 
— sell  the  mill  and  pocket  what  's  left  after  everything  's 
paid,  if  you  want  to.  For  my  part,  though,  I  'd  get  an- 
other partner  and  go  on  running  it.    It  ought  to  pay." 

"It  does  n't,"  said  Fonseker  sadly. 

"I  expect  you  don't  know  how  to  run  it.  Ever  run  a 
shingle-mill  before?" 

"No.    Never  saw  one." 

"Transome — did  he?" 

"Says  so,"  scornfully ;  "but  I  begin  to  doubt  it." 

"H'm!  You  see,  neither  of  you  knows  anything  abbut 
the  business.  That  mill  ought  to  pay  first-rate.  Every- 
body says  so."  The  attorney  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
scrutinized  the  young  Englishman's  frank  but  gloomy 
countenance.    "Silway's  folks  up  at  the  camp  near  you — 


THE  GREAT  AFFRONT  83 

they  understand  the  whole  business  from  A  to  Z.  Why 
did  n't  you  get  them  to  show  you  a  thing  or  two  ?" 

But  Bertie  Fonseker  made  no  actual  reply  to  this  query, 
only  giving  a  mournful  little  shake  of  the  head.  He  was 
stricken  with  a  decided  feeling  of  remorse.  He  recalled 
that  interview  with  Gret  and  what,  in  the  light  of  after 
events,  were  clearly  words  of  truth  and  sincerity  of  pur- 
pose. He  wondered  what  Transome  had  said  to  her  re- 
garding that  incident.  Nothing  pleasant,  he  could  tell; 
for  now  there  was  no  getting  near  her.  Well,  one  thing 
only  was  clear  in  the  midst  of  all  the  muddle  and  tangle : 
he  had  been  a  most  amazing  fool. 

So,  with  a  sort  of  subdued  dignity,  Fonseker  went  back 
to  the  mill  and  admitted  to  Transome  that  his  partnership 
claim  would  have  to  be  allowed.  At  the  same  time  he 
refused  to  buy  him  out.  They  would,  he  remarked,  both 
go  smash  together. 

Transome  waited  a  week  or  two  to  see  if  Fonseker 
were  merely  running  a  game  of  bluff;  and  then,  as  the 
attorney  had  predicted,  he  offered  to  compromise,  naming 
a  very  reasonable  sum  as  relinquishment  of  all  rights  in 
the  mill.  In  the  meantime  Fonseker  had  been  turning 
over  in  his  mind  the  lawyer's  advice  to  keep  the  mill  run- 
ning. But  he  must  have  another  partner,  with  some 
money  at  all  events;  and  at  this  juncture  he  bethought 
himself  of  his  one-time  chum,  Bobbie  Baring.  Bobbie 
was  the  son  of  a  widow  of  high  social  standing.  Thus 
far  his  energies  had  been  confined  to  making  his  ideas, 
which  were  expensive,  conform  to  his  mother's  income, 
which  was  limited. 

It  was  characteristic  now  of  Fonseker's  utter  lack  of 
business  qualifications  that,  having  failed  in  this  his  last 
undertaking  as  the  result  of  total  ignorance  of  the  matter 
in  hand,  he  should  entertain  the  idea  of  another  partner 
of  equal,  or  if  possible  even  greater,  ignorance.     But 


84  GRET 

nothing  of  this  sort  troubHng  Bertie,  he  wrote  to  Bob- 
bie that  his  partner  in  a  shingle-mill  venture  wanted 
to  sell  out  his  share  for  a  very  reasonable  sum  consider- 
ing the  worth  of  the  enterprise.  The  mill  could  be  made 
to  do  a  sweeping  business ;  but  a  little  more  capital  was 
needed,  and  could  n't  Bobbie  somehow  raise  this  and 
come  up  and  buy  the  other  fellow  out  ?  It  was  great  fun, 
with  splendid  duck  shooting  in  season,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  probable  harvest  of  dollars. 

After  much  deliberation,  many  tears,  and  finally  much 
scheming,  Mrs.  Baring  raised  the  sum  of  money  neces- 
sary, and  sent  Bobbie,  convalescing  from  a  recently  broken 
heart,  on  his  way  to  join  Fonseker.  He  would  be  out  of 
mischief  for  a  while,  she  thought,  and  a  time  in  the 
backwoods,  away  from  people,  might  quiet  him  down. 
And  he  might,  too,  make  money.  People  did  all  sorts 
of  queer  things  in  that  vast,  trackless,  and  altogether  un- 
imagined  region  vaguely  known  to  her  as  **the  North," 
and  often  seemed  to  get  quite  rich  on  nothing  at  all, 
except,  perhaps,  the  natural  resources  of  the  land.  Mrs. 
Baring  was  about  as  ignorant  of  the  conditions  of  life  in 
that  part  of  her  native  country  to  which  Bobbie  jour- 
neyed as  any  foreigner  could  be.  She  had  been  born  and 
raised  in  cities,  and  the  long  years  of  her  widowhood  had 
been  spent  abroad.  So,  as  far  as  she  and  Bobbie  were 
concerned,  that  enterprising  young  man,  with  many  prom- 
ises of  a  speedy  return  of  the  money  lent,  and  a  heart  full 
of  the  wildest  ambitions,  departed  for  the  unknown. 

On  learning  that  Bobbie  was  to  join  him,  Fonseker 
paid  over  to  Transome  the  sum  of  money  mentioned ;  and 
long  and  explicit  was  the  legal  document  by  which  the 
now  cautious  Bertie  caused  Transome  to  formally  re- 
nounce all  connection  with  the  mill  henceforth  and  for- 
ever.   Short  and  sweet  was  the  Godspeed  given. 

"Good-by.    Can't  honestly  say  I  'm  sorry  you  're  going. 


THE  GREAT  AFFRONT  85 

Still,  I  'm  glad  to  have  known  you  if  only  for  one 
thing." 

"What  's  that?"  inquired  the  Texan  incautiously. 

"You  Ve  taught  me  what  kind  of  treatment  to  expect 
in  America." 

"Same  kind  of  treatment  that  you  'd  get  in  any  other 
country  if  you  happen  to  be  a  sucker!"  was  the  quick 
retort.    Which  ended  the  interview. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE 

BOBBIE  arrived  on  the  Wishkah,  and  was  immediately 
delighted  with  all  he  saw.  The  frame  house,  whose 
walls  were  not  even  papered,  was  a  huge  joke  to  him,  as 
were  also  the  manners  and  service  of  the  Swedish  girl 
who  was  housekeeper,  cook  and  maid-of -all- work  rolled 
into  one  stolid  personage. 

But  what  struck  Bobbie  more  than  anything  else  was 
the  boundless  possibilities  of  such  an  amazing  enterprise 
as  a  shingle-mill.  He  stood  and  looked  at  the  endless 
timber  about  him.  All  you  had  to  do  was  to  cut  it  down 
and  put  it  through  the  saws  and  there  you  had  shingles, 
a  thing  that  any  one  who  built  any  kind  of  a  house  was 
simply  bound  to  have.  Why,  it  was  better  than  a  gold 
mine! 

Bertie  Fonseker  stood  by  while  his  friend  rhapsodized 
with  a  somewhat  guilty  feeling  at  heart.  He  did  not 
correct  or  explain  away  erroneous  impressions,  however. 
Bobbie  would  learn  soon  enough. 

Bobbie  Baring  was  thoughtless  and  impetuous,  quickly 
taken  with  everything  new  and  the  first  to  run  after  it ; 
easily  raised  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  hope  and  as  soon 
cast  down ;  but  with  it  all  he  was  not  actually  a  fool. 
And  it  was  not  long  before  he  began  to  notice  that  the 
output  seemed  to  be  steady  and  unremitting,  while  the 
income  was  hardly  to  be  discerned — indeed,  as  far  as  his 
own  pockets  were  concerned,  not  discernible  at  all  so 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      87 

far.  Just  as  soon  as  this  idea  took  definite  shape  he  re- 
paired to  Fonseker  for  explanations ;  and  that  gentleman, 
seeing  that  the  inevitable  time  had  come,  sat  down  and 
explained — that  is,  explained  as  far  as  he  was  able.  He 
was  not  at  all  clear  himself  why  the  mill  did  not  pay. 
He  knew  it  did  n't;  that  was  all. 

Bobbie  listened,  amazed,  but  understanding.  "Oh, 
then,"  he  interrupted  once,  "we  have  to  pay  for  all  the 
logs  we  get  to  saw  up?  I  thought  we  just  had  to  pay 
to  get  them  sawn  down  and  brought  to  us." 

"Oh,  no,  we  pay  so  much  a  foot  for  the  lumber." 

"Well,  does  all  this  belong  to  some  one?"  inquired 
Bobbie,  with  a  wide  flourish  of  the  hand  to  indicate  the 
surrounding  timber. 

Fonseker  nodded  gravely.  "Yes,  it  mostly  belongs  to 
Silway,  owner  of  the  big  camp  up  above." 

Bobbie  nodded  absently.  He  was  just  adding  up  in  his 
mind  the  true  significance  of  all  Fonseker  had  just  told 
him.  It  meant  failure,  of  course — more  or  less  speedy, 
but  sure.  Failure  again!  Poor  Bobbie  experienced  an 
immediate  sinking  of  temperament.  He  was  cast  down 
in  spirit,  but  really  more  on  his  mother's  account  than 
his  own.  Bobbie  was  not  a  bad  youth  at  heart,  and  he 
was  ashamed.  She  had  done  her  best  for  him,  and  so 
far  he  had  been  an  unredeemed  and  disgusting  failure. 
Bobbie  suddenly  left  the  house,  and  went  and  sat  by  the 
river.  He  wanted  time  to  study  himself  anew  as  a 
failure. 

It  was  a  disagreeable  task,  and  the  taste  of  his  reflec- 
tions was  bitter  in  the  mouth.  Bobbie's  face  was  very 
wry  as  he  thought  of  all  the  ignominious  details  of  his 
return  to  that  home  from  which  he  had  so  lately  gone 
forth  as  a  knight  clad  for  the  fray.  So  very  disturbing 
did  his  thoughts  become,  as  a  lively  and  too  obliging 
imagination  filled  elaborate  details  into  the  mental  pic- 


88  GRET 

ture,  that  Bobbie  welcomed  with  a  sigh  of  resignation 
and  relief  interruption  of  them  in  the  form  of  a  lithe 
young  girl  walking  up  the  path  to  the  river. 

As  the  first  vision  of  a  girl  in  the  wilds  she  was  a  trifle 
disappointing.  All  the  heroines  of  the  far  West  that 
Bobbie  had  seen  described  in  the  lurid  literature  of  his 
youth  wore  buckskin  shoes  and  were  armed  to  the  teeth. 
But  this  girl  wore  a  waist  affair  and  a  skirt,  like  any  ordi- 
nary girl. 

Gret,  all  unaware  of  her  shortcomings,  looked  keenly 
at  Bobbie  as  she  approached.  She  was  quick  to  detect 
the  shadow  on  the  pleasant,  impudent  face.  And  when 
he  raised  his  cap  and  smiled,  she  paused.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  recognized  anything  that  belonged  to  the 
mill  since  the  time  of  the  Great  Affront. 

"Don't  you  shoot?"  inquired  Bobbie,  forgetting  that 
to  any  one  not  conversant  with  the  trend  of  his  thoughts 
the  words  might  sound  a  trifle  eccentric. 

Gret's  eyes  opened  slowly.  The  greeting  was  so  sin- 
gular.   "Shoot  what?" 

Bobbie  laughed,  recollecting  himself.  "Why,  I  mean, 
I  thought  all  Western  young  ladies  had  six-shooters  with 
them,  and  shot  anything  and  everything  they  did  n't  like." 

"It  would  be  very  nice  to  be  able  to  do  that,"  dryly, 
"but  I  'm  afraid  it  would  n't  last  long.    Get  locked  up." 

"Oh,  do  they  lock  people  up  for  shooting  up  here?" 
asked  Bobbie,  honestly  astonished. 

"You  bet  your  life !    Try  it  and  see." 

"Oh !"  Bobbie  looked  surprised.  "Pooh,"  he  observed ; 
then,  "One  could  just  walk  off  into  this  forest,  and  who 
on  earth  could  find  you  ?" 

"Yes,  you  could  do  that,"  admitted  Gret;  "but  the 
sheriff  and  his  posse  would  come  up  and  look  for  you; 
and  you  'd  have  a  great  time  getting  food." 

More  illusions  gone.    Bobbie  paused  a  moment  to  re- 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      89 

adjust  his  ideas.  Meanwhile  Gret  returned  to  her  first 
impressions — the  shadow  she  had  observed  on  her  com- 
panion's face. 

"FeeHng  homesick?"  she  queried. 

"No — oh,  no  !"  decidedly.  "Just — oh,  just  getting  used 
to  a  disappointment ;  that  's  all." 

"About  the  mill  not  paying?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a 
backward  movement  of  the  head. 

"Yes,"  rather  surprised  at  her  ready  intuition. 

''Well,  did  you  ever  suppose  it  would?"  inquired  Gret 
with  slight  scorn. 

"Well,  of  course  I  did,"  indignantly.  "Do  you  suppose 
I  'd  take  my  mother's  money  and  come  up  here  and  just 
throw  it  away — not  even  expect  to  have  a  run  for  it?" 

"Why  did  you  put  money  into  anything  before  you 
knew  all  about  it  ?"  demanded  Gret  in  a  businesslike  way. 

"Well,  Mr.  Fonseker  said  it  was  a  fine  venture,"  ex- 
plained Bobbie.  "He  still  says  it  would  pay  finely  if  only 
we  knew  how  to  run  it." 

"Oh,  he  does,  does  he  ?"  said  Gret  triumphantly.  "Found 
out  that  all  I  said  was  quite  true,  has  n't  he  ?" 

"All  you  said  ?"  repeated  Bobbie  blankly. 

"Yes ;  I  told  them  long  ago  they  were  going  to  smash. 
And  I  told  them  what  to  do  to  get  right,  too." 

"And  what  did  they  say  ?"  inquired  Bobbie,  immensely 
astonished. 

"They  said—"  and  Gret's  eyes  flashed  again  at  the  mere 
recollection — "that  I  was  just  trying  to  scare  them  out  of 
the  mill  so  that  my  father  could  buy  it.  Pshaw!  Sup- 
pose if  my  father  had  wanted  a  shingle-mill  he  could  n't 
have  got  it  himself  years  ago  ?" 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Bobbie  instantly.  "It  was  a 
beastly  caddish  thing  to  say.  Fonseker  never  said  it,  I 
know.    He  's  too  much  of  a  gentleman." 

"I  spoke  to  Fonseker  himself,"  said  Gret;  "and  he  went 


90  GRET 

and  told  Transome — the  other  fellow — and  Transome 
came  and  said  that  to  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  Fonseker  knew  anything  about 
it,"  declared  Bobbie,  springing  to  his  feet  in  his  excite- 
ment. "I  'm  just  going  to  see.  If  he  did,  he  's  a  cad, 
and  I  shall  tell  him  so.  Any  one  has  only  to  look  at  you 
to  see  you  're  all  right." 

Gret  smiled,  a  smile  of  real  kindliness  and  amuse- 
ment, at  this  compliment,  which  she  recognized  as  spon- 
taneous and  not  a  mere  administration  of  "hot  air."  Then 
she  passed  on ;  and  Bobbie  strode  back  to  the  mill. 

The  next  time  he  met  Gret,  which  was  at  the  entrance 
to  the  camp,  he  made  many  and  painstaking  excuses  for 
Fonseker. 

*T  told  you  I  was  sure  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  what 
that  fellow  said.  And  he  had  n't.  And  Transome  never 
told  him  what  he  had  said  to  you,  either.  Of  course,  it 
does  n't  signify  one  way  or  another  now.  Only  I  hated 
to  leave  you  with  such  an  idea  of  Fonseker." 

Gret  nodded  indifferently.  The  momentary  gratifica- 
tion consequent  on  having  her  words  shown  up  so  forci- 
bly as  truth  had  died  away;  and  Fonseker's  opinion  of 
her  and  hers  of  him  was  now  a  matter  of  small  moment. 
In  any  case,  Fonseker  was  a  nonentity.  Gret  had  no  use 
for  a  man— or  a  woman,  either— who  was  led  by  another. 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  been  thinking,"  observed  Bob- 
bie, seating  himself  gingerly  on  the  rough  edge  of  a  log 
that  for  some  reason  or  other  had  escaped  the  barker's 
hands.  Gret  seated  herself  also  as  intimation  that  she  had 
time  to  spare.  *T  've  decided  that  when  the  mill  smashes 
up,  closes  down,  or  sells  out,  or  whatever  it  does—" 

"Sells  out,  I  should  think,"  interposed  Gret  briefly. 

"Well,  if  we  can.  That  's  what  Fonseker  said  last 
night— that  we  'd  better  close  the  thing  up  and  try  to  sell 
it." 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      91 

Gret  laughed.  "You  certainly  can't  sell  it  if  you  close 
it  down.  You  might  if  you  offered  it  as  a  going  con- 
cern." 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Bobbie,  looking  interested. 
"Of  course,  Fonseker  was  only  thinking  of  losing  no 
more  money  in  it.  If  we  do  sell  out,  he  says  he  will  give 
me  just  as  much  of  my  money  back  as  he  possibly  can. 
Then  I  shall  send  that  straight  home  to  mother." 

"Mother  a  widow  ?"  inquired  Gret. 

Bobbie  nodded.  "Yes.  Very  hard  up  at  times,  too — 
that  is,  to  keep  up  necessary  appearances,  you  know." 

Gret  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  "necessary  appear- 
ances" were,  but  concluded  from  Bobbie's  tone  that  they 
were  something  imperative.  And  Bobbie,  not  troubled  at 
any  time  with  false  pride  or  undue  reserve  concerning 
financial  or  family  matters,  least  of  all  when,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  he  was  attracted  toward  and  felt  con- 
fidence in  a  person,  proceeded  to  impart  his  views. 

"Well,  as  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  I  Ve  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  won't  go  home  even  after  the  mill  is  gone. 
Hang  it,  I  simply  can't  go  and  plant  myself  on  the  Mater 
again  and  expect  her  to  keep  me  or  find  me  something  to 
do.  I  've  done  enough  of  that.  So  I  'm  going  to  try  to 
work.    Suppose  I  could  get  anything  to  do  up  here  ?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Gret,  in  ready  approval  of  the  senti- 
ment. "Why  not?  Dick  will  give  you  a  job  in  our 
camp." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  logging,  you  know,"  re- 
marked Bobbie  diffidently.  "I  would  n't  be  much  good 
—  for  a  while  anyway." 

"No ;  but  you  'd  learn.  Dick  is  awfully  good  to  teach 
the  men.  We  've  had  lots  of  tenderfeet,  some  of  them 
swells,  too."  She  turned  and  her  quick  glance  sought 
out  the  fine  proportions  of  the  foreman  from  among  a 
group  of  men  a  little  lower  down  on  the  skid-road.    And 


92  GRET 

then,  putting  her  hand  horn-shaped  over  her  lips,  she 
shouted,  '^O-oh,  Dick!" 

Bobbie  was  staggered  for  a  moment  at  the  volume  of 
the  shout  coming  from  this  slim  creature.  But  then  he 
noted  the  broad,  firm  sweep  of  her  chest,  and  laughed  to 
himself.  And  Dick  Swinton,  turning  with  the  rest  of  the 
men  in  the  direction  of  the  shout,  saw  the  beckoning 
wave  of  Gret's  hand,  detached  himself  from  the  rest  and 
approached  obediently.  He  looked  a  trifle  surprised  to 
see  the  two  in  close  converse. 

"What  is  he  in  your  camp?"  inquired  Bobbie  before 
Dick  was  well  within  hearing. 

"Foreman— boss,  altogether,"  briefly.  "Say,  Dick,"  as 
that  gentleman  approached,  "you  could  give  this  gentle- 
man a  job  in  the  camp,  could  n't  you  V' 

"Sure,"  repHed  he,  running  his  keen  blue  eyes  over  the 
young  man's  well-knit  figure. 

"Then  it  would  n't  be  long  before  you  'd  be  earning 
your  three  or  three  and  a  half  a  day,"  went  on  Gret  en- 
couragingly ;  "and  all  you  have  to  pay  out  of  that  is  four 
dollars  a  week  board.    The  bunk  is  free." 

"Sounds  as  if  I  'd  soon  get  rich  that  way,"  said  Bobbie 
gaily. 

"Mill  going  to  bust  up,  then  ?"  inquired  Dick. 

"Yes— from  all  indications.  I  imagine  the  fuse  was 
laid  long  before  I  came,"  answered  Bobbie  frankly. 

Dick  smiled.    "Yes,  I  guess  so." 

"Fonseker  found  out  that  all  I  said  to  him  that  time 
was  true,"  remarked  Gret  with  a  triumphant  nod  to  Dick ; 
"but  he  says  he  never  knew  anything  about  what  Tran- 
some  said  to  me." 

"Very  likely  not,"  said  Dick  coolly.  "That  was  a  mean 
scn-of-a-gun,  that  Transome." 

"Yes,  you  bet  he  was,"  agreed  Gret  heartily.  "This 
gentleman's  mother  is  a  widow,  and  she  just  scraped  up 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      93 

all  the  money  she  could  to  set  him  up  in  business,"  she 
went  on,  indicating  Bobbie,  and  by  way  of  enlisting  the 
practical  Dick's  sympathy  in  his  behalf.  "It  's  too  bad 
he  should-  be  sucked  in  the  way  he  has  been,  is  n't  it  ?" 

Dick  nodded.  "There  was  some  changes  made  a  little 
while  before  you  came,"  addressing  Bobbie.  "Have  n't 
they  done  any  good  ?" 

"Can't  say  whether  they  have  or  not.  You  see,  I  don't 
know  the  state  of  affairs  before  they  were  made,"  said 
Bobbie  dryly.  "But  they  must  have  been  pretty  bad  if 
the  present  is  an  improvement." 

"Pshaw !  The  men  they  've  got  now  are  n't  any  better 
than  the  old  ones.  How  is  it  going  to  be  any  better?" 
inquired  Gret  scornfully,  addressing  herself  more  partic- 
ularly to  Dick.  "I  '11  bet  anything  I  could  make  that  mill 
pay  inside  of  three  months." 

Dick  and  Bobbie  both  laughed  at  the  vehemence  of  the 
announcement. 

"Well,  then,  you  'd  better  fix  up  some  sort  of  a  business 
deal  with  this  gentleman,"  advised  Dick  jestingly.  "Ask 
him  how  much  he  'd  pay  for  a  manager." 

"You  could  have  half  my  share  of  the  thing,"  said 
Bobbie,  evidently  not  taking  it  as  so  much  of  a  joke. 

"Don't  want  any  share.  I  'd  like  to  do  it  just  for  fun," 
with  a  thoughtful  frown.  She  stood  considering  for  a 
moment  or  so.  "Say,"  addressing  Bobbie,  but  laying  a 
detaining  hand  on  Dick's  shirt-sleeve,  as  if  afraid  he 
might  be  inclined  to  walk  away,  "the  mill  's  sure  to  bust 
anyway,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"Don't  see  how  it  can  help  it,"  with  engaging  candor. 

"Well,  let  me  see— how  much  longer  do  you  think  it 
can  be  kept  going?" 

"Oh,  a  month  or  two,  perhaps.  There  is  some  money 
yet  to  come  from  what  orders  they  did  manage  to  fill." 

"Hum!    Well— would  you  do  everything  I  told  you — 


94  GRET 

everything,"  inquired  the  girl  with  an  impressive  frown, 
"if  I  tried  to  help  you  out  of  the  hole  again  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed  we  will !"  responded  Bobbie  quickly. 

"And  if  I  get  men  up  from  the  Harbor,  will  you  pay 
them  just  whatever  I  say?" 

"Yes;  positively." 

"Perhaps  Fonseker  won't." 

"I  '11  pitch  him  in  the  river  if  he  won't,"  savagely. 
He  's  been  fool  enough  already.  But  he  '11  be  glad  to  do 
it,"  he  added  confidently. 

"All  right.  I  '11  try."  Her  eyes  narrowed  and  her  nos- 
trils dilated  with  the  love  of  power  and  of  a  keen  fight, 
that  was  born  in  her.  "If  it  's  going  to  bust  anyhow,  I 
can  but  bust  it  a  bit  sooner.  I  don't  know  much  more 
about  running  a  shingle-mill  than  you  do,  but  I  know  all 
those  who  do  know." 

"And  where  do  you  come  in?"  inquired  Dick,  keen  for 
the  welfare  of  his  own. 

"I  don't  know  what  Fonseker  will  do,  of  course,"  said 
Bobbie;  "but  half  of  all  my  profits  shall  be  hers." 

"Don't  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  anything?"  frowning 
heavily  at  the  unabashed  Dick.  "I  'm  just  going  to  try 
my  hand;  that  's  all.  Besides,  I  hate  to  see  you  get  left 
so  badly,"  to  Bobbie.  "You  come  up  here  to-morrow 
afternoon— late,  about  five  o'clock.  Will  you?  And  then 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  want  to  do.  I  've  got  to  go  now. 
Oh,  and  say,"  turning  back,  "I  remember,  father  told 
Dick  it  was  no  good  getting  orders  for  your  mill.  They 
were  too  long  being  filled,  and  the  people  got  mad  at  him 
for  sending  them  to  you.  So  you  write  to  father— Fon- 
seker 's  got  his  address— and  tell  him  that  you  are  the 
new  partner,  and  that  now  things  are  going  to  hum.  Tell 
him  you  've  got  some  of  the  finest  shingle  men  on  the 
Harbor,  and  that  orders  will  be  filled  in  your  mill  quicker 
than  anywhere  else.    Ask  him  to  get  you  some  new  cus- 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      95 

tomers,  and  give  him  your  word  as  to  the  delivery.  See  ? 
He  often  has  chances  to  send  fine  orders.  Do  that  now— 
to-night." 

Bobbie  nodded  in  dehghted  acquiescence,  and  strode 
off  to  acquaint  Fonseker  with  the  new,  and  to  his  way  of 
thinking,  lucky  turn  in  affairs.  It  was  thoroughly  char- 
acteristic of  his  simple,  unbusinesslike  nature— and  also 
of  Fonseker's,  who  took  up  the  proposition  with  equal 
zest — that  he  turned  over  the  working  of  the  mill  to  a 
girl  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

Meanwhile  Gret  turned  back  to  Dick.  "Come  along. 
Want  to  talk  to  you." 

But  Dick  thrust  both  hands  in  his  pockets  and  stood 
looking  down  on  her.  "What  do  you  want  to  talk  to  me 
for  ?    I  'm  not  in  on  this  deal." 

"Yes,  you  are — back  of  me,"  coolly.  Then  holding  up 
her  hand,  and  marking  off  the  fingers  on  it.  "I  'm  going 
to  get  Dave  Robnike  from  the  American  mill.  He  's  the 
finest  weaver  on  this  coast,  is  n't  he?"  Dick  nodded. 
"Phew !  You  should  see  him.  He  does  n't  like  the  new 
foreman;  he  told  me  so.  He  's  getting  three  and  a  half 
a  day  now.  He  must  have  three  seventy-five,  or  even 
four  if  he  won't  come  without.  Then  I  'm  going  to 
have  Ritchie  out  of  the  James  &  Dicksee  mill — fine  knot- 
sawyer,  every  one  says — and  Tom  West,  the  bolter  out 
of  the  Hartley-Barnes  mill.    And  Dick,  you  tell  them — " 

"Now,  Gret,  see  here,"  said  Dick  quietly,  "you  know 
very  well  that  I  can't  have  anything  to  do  with  no  such 
work  as  that.  These  people  all  get  lumber  off  us,  and — 
my  gracious !  it  would  n't  be  fair  to  your  father  or  any- 
body else." 

Gret  stared  him  squarely  in  the  face.  "I  supposed 
you  'd  use  a  little  sense  in  the  matter,"  she  retorted  scorn- 
fully. "That  's  why  I  did  n't  set  to  work  and  tell  you 
exactly  how  to  say  it.    But  if  these  men  come  into  the 


96  GRET 

camp  asking  questions,  what  sort  of  mill  it  is,  what  sort 
of  bosses  and  all  that,  I  suppose  you  can  tell  them  every- 
thing is  all  right,  can't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  can  do  that." 

"Well,  then !  You  did  n't  suppose  I  was  going  to  send 
you  to  sneak  the  men,  did  you  ?" 

"Land,  I  did  n't  know,"  smiling,  and  still  looking  down 
on  her  in  the  greatest  amusement.  "You  're  quite  equal 
to  it." 

Gret  laughed,  too,  good-humored  once  more.  "Well, 
it  's  like  this,  Dick :  I  'm  going  to  make  that  mill  pay  or 
die.  Of  course,  I  don't  really  know  much  more  about 
running  a  shingle-mill  than  they  do ;  only,  I  '11  use  a  little 
sense.  But  anything  you  tell  me — help  and  advice  and  all 
that— goes  in  here,"  tapping  her  forehead,  "and  stays 
there.    No  one  will  know  how  much  you  put  me  wise." 

Dick  nodded.  Presently  he  went  back  to  his  men, 
highly  amused;  and  Gret  went  on  her  way  deeply 
thoughtful. 

After  this  treachery  entered  the  mills  down  at  the 
Harbor.  But  the  proprietors  never  knew  it  was  in  the 
person  of  Silway's  daughter,  who  came  and  sat  on  the 
benches  during  lunch-hour,  chatting  with  various  men. 
They  were  accustomed  to  seeing  her,  from  a  child  up, 
walk  about  the  mills  whenever  she  felt  inclined.  But 
Gret  heard  all  the  men's  grievances — having  cautiously 
led  the  conversation  up  to  the  recital  of  them — and  dis- 
cussed their  affairs  with  them  with  the  utmost  sympathy. 
And  then  she  spoke  words  of  wisdom. 

"There  's  a  little  mill  up  by  our  place— a  dandy  little 
mill  it  is.  I  tell  you  it  is  a  regular  snap  working  there. 
And  the  bosses  are  two  of  the  nicest  men  you  could  hope 
to  work  for.  I  know  them  both.  You  come  up  to  our 
camp,  and  the  boys  will  tell  you  the  same  thing.  What 
are  you  getting  here — three  and  a  half?    Well,  they  'd 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      97 

give  you  three  six  bits,  I  know.  They  get  swell  orders, 
and  crackerjack  men  is  what  they  're  looking  for.  Ritchie 
and  West  are  thinking  about  going  up  there.  Come  up 
to  the  camp  to  dinner  to-night.  I  '11  tell  Jake  I  asked  you. 
And  then,  if  you  feel  like  it,  you  can  just  stroll  down  to 
the  mill-house  and  talk  to  the  bosses.  No  harm  done, 
anyhow.    Who  's  to  know?" 

This  performance  was  repeated  for  the  benefit  of  each 
of  the  other  men  of  her  choice,  and  worked  well  in  each 
instance.  The  men  came  up  to  the  camp  as  suggested— 
though  on  different  nights,  by  Gret's  careful  arrangement 
— and  some  of  the  main  spokesmen  of  the  camp,  having 
previously  learned  of  Gret's  interest  in  the  case,  promptly 
and  cheerfully  went  into  ecstacies  over  both  the  mill  and 
the  angelic  qualities  of  its  owners.  Gret  sat  by  and  lis- 
tened stolidly ;  and  then  just  as  stolidly  offered  to  conduct 
the  men  into  the  presence  of  the  mill-owners. 

Of  course  the  men  were  hired,  and  started  to  work. 
But  this  was  only  the  beginning  of  Gret's  labors.  Dick 
saw  to  it  that  only  the  finest  logs  went  down  to  the  mill, 
and  Gret  covertly  watched  the  sawing  up  of  almost  each 
one  and  reported  to  Dick  in  order  that  full  justice  was 
done  to  the  wood.  Moreover,  when  the  men  were  safely 
away  from  their  former  mills,  and  their  places  filled  up, 
she  talked  with  them  again.  Of  course,  if  the  mill  would 
n't  pay,  Fonseker  and  Baring,  with  all  their  money,  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  keep  it  going.  But  then  it  would 
pay.  Why  should  n't  it  with  such  men?  And  the  men 
certainly  did  work  with  a  will.  To  add  to  their  comfort, 
Gret  had  managed  to  have  them  board  at  her  father's 
camp,  being  afraid  that  a  journey  to  and  from  the  Harbor 
night  and  morning  would  soon  dampen  their  ardor.  And 
Jake,  who  in  any  ordinary  case  would  have  kicked  like 
fury  at  cooking  for  outside  boarders,  said  not  a  word, 
but  instead  saw  to  it  that  many  a  little  comfort  came  the 

7  i 


98  GRET 

way  of  "Gret's  boys,"  the  source  and  cause  of  which 
they  were  far  from  suspecting.  Jake  felt  very  sure  from 
what  he  saw  of  Baring  and  Fonseker — but  Baring  espe- 
cially— that,  if  the  mill  could  be  got  to  pay,  something 
handsome  would  come  out  of  it  for  Gret. 

The  two  young  mill-owners  were  amazed  at  the  light- 
ning change  that  took  place  at  the  mill.  They  had  not 
supposed  it  possible  such  a  quantity  of  shingles  could  be 
turned  out  with  the  machinery  at  their  command.  The 
first  week  or  so  they  were  inclined  to  walk  round,  open- 
eyed,  pleased  astonishment  written  large  on  their  faces — 
a  proceeding  to  which  Gret  was  quick  to  put  a  stop. 

"Walk  round  and  look  wise,  anyhow,  even  if  you 
don't  know  anything,"  she  advised  tartly.  And  the  two 
partners  retired  to  do  their  marveling  in  secret. 

In  addition  to  writing  to  her  father,  Gret  made  Bobbie 
write  to  all  previous  mill  customers  and,  explaining  the 
rearrangement  in  the  management  of  the  mill,  solicit  a 
further  trial  of  their  product.  A  few  orders  were  ob- 
tained in  this  way,  which  were  immediately  filled  out  of 
the  store  of  shingles  now  accumulated,  and  filled  so  ex- 
cellently that  the  original  order  was  in  almost  every 
instance  immediately  repeated.  For  the  first  month  the 
mill  barely  paid  expenses ;  but  at  the  end  of  the  second 
month  Bobbie  Baring  came  to  Gret  and  placed  in  her 
hands  a  longish  envelop.  She  opened  it  curiously  to  find 
an  account  book  with  the  Harbor  bank,  showing  fifty 
dollars  to  her  credit.  She  refused  to  take  it,  protesting 
that  she  had  never  thought  of  money  compensation.  But 
Bobbie  was  firm  for  once  in  his  life. 

"Yes,  you  will  take  it.  I  know  you  never  thought  of 
money.  But  it  's  only  fair.  It  's  half  Fonseker's  and 
half  mine,  and  we  're  too  grateful  for  words.  Indeed, 
we  are.  Next  month  the  profits  will  be  more  very  likely," 
hopefully ;  "and  you  '11  get  half  the  profits  of  each." 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE      99 

"Well,  I  '11  take  this,"  said  Gret ;  "but  I  won't  take  half 
next  month  if  you  talk  for  a  week.  Besides,  I  should  n't 
think  you  'd  need  anyone  much  longer.  You  ought  to 
know  the  business  yourselves  pretty  soon.  I  show  you 
just  how  it  's  all  done." 

"I  know  you  do.  You  're  awfully  good  and  straight- 
forward to  us,"  agreed  Bobbie  gently.  ''And  I — we — may 
learn  the  business  all  right;  but  we  '11  never  learn  to 
manage  men  as  you  do." 

Gret  laughed  and  sped  on  her  way,  well  pleased,  as  was 
but  natural,  at  the  frank  and  genuine  praise.  She  went 
at  once  to  show  Dick  what  the  mill-owners  had  done, 
and  that  gentleman  was  of  the  opinion  that  they  had  just 
done  what  was  right. 

"It  's  yours ;  you  earned  it  well  enough.  And  I  'm  glad 
they  did  the  square  thing  by  you." 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  do  so  very  much,"  said  Gret  modestly. 

"You  did  n't  leave  much  undone,  either,"  said  the  fore- 
man with  a  smile ;  "that  's  a  sure  thing." 

Gret  said  no  more,  but  she  went  down  to  the  Harbor 
next  day,  drew  a  sum  of  money  out  of  the  bank  and  pur- 
chased for  Dick  a  most  elaborate  scarf-pin,  and  for  Jake 
a  pair  of  cuff-links.  These  she  presented  with  honeyed 
words  of  flattery. 

"I  could  n't  have  done  anything,  now,  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  you  two.    So  don't  say  a  word." 

She  also  ordered  up  into  Jake's  keeping  a  keg  of  beer; 
and  that  night  the  camp  held  a  jamboree  and  toasted  the 
mill,  and  agreed  that  the  owners  were  first-rate  fellows, 
who  should  n't  be  done  up  again  while  any  of  the  camp 
members  were  by  to  help.  Gret's  diplomacy  and  business 
acumen  were  lauded  to  the  skies,  and  every  one  was  well 
pleased  all  the  way  round. 

After  that  things  began  to  go  on  oiled  wheels.  Bobbie 
wrote  home  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  began  to  return  in 


100  GRET 

steady  amounts  the  money  lent  him.  He  wisely,  however, 
made  no  mention  of  Gret's  existence,  knowing  full  well 
that  his  anxious  mother  would  instantly  suspect  an  awful 
entanglement. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Silway  came  home  again  for  a  time. 
He  soon  learned,  as  he  was  bound  to  do,  of  Grefs  myste- 
rious and  not  very  well  understood  connection  with  the 
mill.  At  first  he  was  enraged,  as  he  generally  was  at  any- 
thing new  concerning  his  family,  and  declared  he  was  n't 
going  to  have  Gret's  name  mixed  up  with  that  of  those 
two  fellows.  Gret  herself  said  nothing;  but  she  treated 
her  father  to  one  of  those  peculiar,  unblinking  stares  of 
hers,  and  then  walked  off.  She  could  not  have  expressed 
herself  better  if  she  had  talked  for  a  month. 

However,  upon  inquiry  Mr.  Silway  found  that  in 
reality  Gret  seemed  to  be  doing  little  more  than  bossing 
and  meddling  about  the  mill,  much  as  she  did  about  their 
own  camp;  and  when  he  became  better  acquainted  with 
Bobbie,  he  could  not  but  admit  that  the  two  young  mill- 
proprietors  were  undoubtedly  gentlemen  and  very  nice 
fellows.  Gret  might  do  worse  than  marry  either  of  them ; 
in  fact,  she  was  more  than  liable  to  do  very  much  worse. 
And  anyway,  Gret  left  alone  was  no  trouble,  while  Gret 
crossed  might  be  goodness  knows  what.  So  with  remark- 
able wisdom,  for  him,  he  let  the  subject  drop. 

The  possibility  that  Gret  might  marry  one  of  the  mill- 
owners  was  discussed  in  several  quarters — always  well  out 
of  Gret's  hearing,  it  may  be  remarked.  Among  those  loud 
in  disfavor  of  such  an  idea  were  Oly,  Jake  and  Robin. 

"Pshaw!  they  don't  know  enough.  Gret  's  not  going 
to  marry  anybody  that  she  can  tote  around  at  the  end  of  a 
string." 

It  may  be  supposed  that  such  talk  as  this,  connecting, 
as  it  did  in  a  way,  Gret's  name  with  those  of  the  young 
mill  men  would  rouse  a  feeling  of  jealousy  in  the  breast 


GRET  COMES  TO  THE  RESCUE    loi 

of  Robin  Start.  But  it  did  not;  far  from  it.  Robin  was 
no  suppliant  for  Gret's  favor.  That  young  lady  had 
changed  very  materially  in  her  attitude  toward  the  chum 
of  her  childhood.  Following  that  escapade  of  now  nearly 
two  years  ago,  Gret  had  seemingly  viewed  Robin  in  a 
new  and  apparently  ludicrous  light.  For  a  time  she  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  making  fun  of  him,  and  she 
watched  him,  when  in  her  presence,  with  an  amused 
mockery  in  her  eyes  that  was  not  pleasant  to  either  his 
self-respect  or  vanity.  Instead  of  looking  forward  to  it, 
Robin  grew  to  dread  lest  at  any  time  it  should  suit  Gret's 
purpose  to  disclose  her  new  estate.  For  a  long  time  he 
did  not  dare  mention  the  subject  to  her ;  but  once,  many 
months  thereafter,  he  timidly  referred  to  it. 

''Suppose  we  '11  ever  do  anything  with  that  business  of 
ours — you  know — that  day  at  Montyville  ?" 

Gret  looked  at  him  in  cool  surprise.  .  "Of  course  not. 
I  never  think  about  it.  Just  the  same  to  me  as  if  it  had 
never  been  done." 

''But  supposing  it  ever  came  out,"  hazarded  Robin. 

Gret  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  rock,  and  regarded  her 
companion  with  that  uncomfortable,  unwavering  gaze. 
"Why,  I  should  just  say  that  you  persuaded  me  into  it, 
and  that  I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it  until  I  was  on 
the  boat;  my  parents  did  n't  know  anything  about  it; 
I  was  n't  of  proper  age,  and  you  'd  just  get  kicked  out. 
That  's  all  there  'd  be  to  it." 

Robin  gasped.    "Why,  how  could  you  be  so  mean?" 

"I  would  n't,"  coolly.  "I  should  never  say  anything 
about  it.  If  you  do,  you  know  what  to  expect.  It  was 
only  a  fool  trick,  anyhow.    Nothing  legal  about  it." 

"Well,  we  '11  let  it  go  at  that,"  said  Robin  relieved.  "It 
was  never  done." 

"Of  course.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  few  words, 
anyway.    I  never  think  about  it." 


I02  GRET 

And  that  was  true.  She  did  n't.  And  Robin  was  glad 
to  come  to  her  way  of  thinking.  His  craze  to  take  his 
place  in  the  community  as  a  married  man  had  worn  off. 
He  could  not  see  that  Jack  Gradel  got  any  more  consider- 
ation, and  he  certainly  was  getting  a  whole  lot  less  com- 
fort. Robin  never  could  go  near  the  Gradel  cabin  but 
his  ears  were  assailed  by  the  squalls  of  an  infant.  The 
advent  of  a  family  naturally  made  more  work  for  Mary, 
and  as  that  ambitious  young  woman  had  married  to  es- 
cape work,  not  to  make  it,  she  was  not  turning  out  a  very 
good  wife.  As  far  as  Robin  could  see,  Jack  had  nothing 
but  wrangles  and  discomfort.  He  was  very  glad  to  es- 
cape a  like  predicament,  and  came  in  time  to  see  and 
realize  how  childishly  rash  and  foolish  he  had  been.  And 
he  really  came  to  look  upon  the  affair,  as  Gret  said,  in 
the  light  of  a  youthful  escapade  with  nothing  serious  or 
legal  about  it ;  and  as  such  it  lapsed  most  of  the  time  into 
the  limbo  of  forgotten  things. 

The  winter  passed  away,  and  spring  came  again.  And 
then  Bobbie  Baring  grew  restless.  He  bethought  himself 
of  the  yachting  parties,  gay  times  at  the  beaches  and  con- 
tinental trips ;  and  longed  for  a  sight  of,  and  converse 
with,  his  own.  And  presently  he  wrote  to  his  mother, 
observing  that  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  not  leave 
the  mill  for  a  time  to  Fonseker  and  come  home  for  a 
holiday. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS 

"  AND  SO,"  Mrs.  Baring  was  saying  impressively,  "I  must 
rjL think  very  carefully  over  what  I  shall  write,  so  as  to 
persuade  Bobbie  to  stand  by  his  post,  without  seeming 
harsh  or  unfeeling,  you  know." 

Maude  Vibart  nodded.  "Have  you  told  Vines  that  you 
are  to  be  left  alone?" 

"Yes.    I  'm  not  at  home  to  any  one,"  placidly. 

"Not  to  any  one  ?"  repeated  Maude  with  an  inflection. 

"Oh  well,  he  knows  I  'm  never  out  to  Errol  or  Lily  or 
any  one  like  that/'  replied  Mrs.  Baring. 

"You  're  expecting  your  nephew,  the  major,  to  come 
and  confer  with  you  on  the  question  of  Bobbie's  visit, 
are  n't  you?"  asked  Maude  in  a  carefully  casual  tone. 

"Well,  he  said  he  would  get  here  if  he  could,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Baring  discontentedly.  "But  Mrs.  Hall- 
Turner  had  him  on  her  coach  this  morning.  "It  's  per- 
fectly disgusting  the  way  those  women  run  after  him." 

Miss  Vibart  smiled  absently.  Maude  had  been  guilty 
of  an  act  of  folly.  In  the  midst  of  a  life  that  had  been 
reason,  all  reason,  cool,  calculating  business  reason,  she 
had  done  an  utterly  foolish  and  impractical  thing.  She 
had  fallen  in  love— and  in  an  impossible  quarter. 

The  man  was  the  impracticable  part  of  the  affair,  every- 
thing else  being  more  than  satisfactory.  From  his  father 
he  inherited  a  fine  old  English  name  and  estates;  and 
from  his  mother,  an  American  woman,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  CaHfornian  estates;  his  income  was  enor- 

103 


I04  GRET 

mous,  and  he  did  not  spend  half  of  it.  But  as  far  as  the 
man  himself  was  concerned  Maude  might  as  well  have 
fallen  in  love  with  the  pope. 

Maude  knew  all  this.  She  was  no  fool,  neither  was  she 
conceited.  A  man  who  had  been  the  target  of  every 
match-making  mother  for  six  or  seven  years  at  least,  in 
continental  cities  and  at  home,  and  who  had  yet  to  be 
even  associated  with  the  name  of  a  woman,  was  not  likely 
to  be  attracted  by  anything  a  woman  like  herself  had  to 
offer.  No— Maude's  only  hope,  if  she  had  one,  was  to 
be  found  in  an  opinion  once  expressed  by  Mrs.  Baring, 
his  aunt  on  the  maternal  side.  The  opinion  was  not  stated 
to  Maude  in  particular,  but  was  merely  a  statement  in 
general. 

"Errol  will  never  fall  in  love,  my  dear.  Don't  imagine 
it  for  a  moment.  It  is  simply  not  in  him.  He  will  have 
to  marry  sometime,  of  course,  because  he  will  never  let 
Ketton  go  to  strangers.  But  when  he  does  it  will  be  to 
some  woman  willing  to  marry  him  without  love  and 
courtship  or  anything  of  that  kind." 

Maude  would  have  married  him  on  any  terms.  To  do 
her  justice,  she  would  gladly  have  married  him  if  he  had 
been  unknown  and  penniless— so  great  and  entire  was  her 
one  act  of  folly.  It  was  unprecedented;  it  never  would 
be  duplicated.  It  was  just  as  well  that  it  was  whole- 
hearted. 

Apparently  "those  women"  allowed  Major  Ludlowe  a 
brief  respite,  for  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  he  ap- 
peared, towing  after  him  into  the  boudoir  the  tall  and 
slender  figure  of  Arthur  Massinger,  one  of  the  city's  most 
prominent  young  ministers  and  a  former  college  friend  of 
Ludlowe's.  He  was  giving  up  his  life  to  helping  the 
''unfortunates"  of  San  Francisco. 

''Mrs.  Baring,  this  is  an  intrusion,"  began  the  young 
minister:  "but—" 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS  105 

"Errol  did  it,"  finished  that  gentleman,  turning  round 
from  greeting  the  serene  Maude.  ''I  found  him  wander- 
ing the  streets,  and  brought  him  here  to  you  to  be  lec- 
tured. Just  look  at  that  face,  aunt."  Placing  his  hand 
on  the  man's  shoulder,  and  gently  turning  toward  that 
attentive  lady  the  worn,  white  face  and  hollow,  bright 
eyes. 

"It  's  no  good  my  saying  anything,  if  a  glance  in  his 
glass  is  not  sufficient,"  said  Mrs.  Baring  impressively. 
"That  gives  all  the  warning  there  is  to  be  given." 

"No,  don't  scold,  Mrs.  Baring,"  said  Massinger,  draw- 
ing a  chair  near  his  hostess.  "I  am  warned  by  the  doc- 
tor.   I  have  to  go  away  for  a  rest." 

"I  should  think  so.  Where  are  you  going?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Baring. 

"I  don't  know,"  thoughtfully. 

"And  don't  care,  eh?"  asked  Ludlowe. 

"Oh,  not  much,"  gently.  "Wherever  is  most  advisable 
from  a  health  point  of  view,  I  suppose." 

"And  worry  about  your  charity  work  the  whole  time 
you  are  away,  I  know,"  observed  Miss  Vibart. 

"Oh,  no.  That  must  cease  while  I  'm  gone ;  that 's  all," 
calmly.  "The  only  thing  that  worries  me  at  all  is  the  fact 
that  I  have  at  present  three  girls  at  The  Tents.'  They 
can't  be  turned  away;  and  I  find  it  so  difficult  to  get  a 
good  woman  to  look  after  them." 

^Tou  would,  of  course,"  agreed  Mrs.  Baring,  innocent 
of  any  intent  to  offend.  "You  could  hardly  expect  a 
good  woman  to  be  willing  to  come  in  contact  with  them." 

Arthur  Massinger  smiled  slightly.  Where  the  vital 
questions  of  his  life  were  concerned  he  was  a  man  of  few 
words.  He  was  not  fool  enough  to  suppose  that  with  a 
few  words,  however  well-chosen,  he  could  upset  in  his 
day  the  ideas  that  custom  and  convention  had  been  weav- 
ing for  generations.     No— time  and  independent  right- 


io6  GRET 

eous  lives  might  do  it.  He  could  not,  and  was  not  going 
to  waste  time  and  precious  energy  trying. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Baring  produced  Bobbie's  letter,  read 
it,  unfolded  her  views,  and  looked  very  wise  and  im- 
pressive. 

"You  know  how  very  impressionable  Bobbie  is,"  she 
observed.  "He  never  could  be  here  a  whole  summer 
without  getting  interested  in— in  something  or  other. 
And  I  know  he  never  would  go  back  before  the  Summer 
was  over,  perhaps  not  even  then.  He  never  will  get  an- 
other money-making  chance  like  this— right  away  up 
there,  too,  where  it  does  not  really  matter  what  one  does." 

"No.  At  the  same  time  he  is  evidently  tired  of  rusti- 
cating for  the  present,  and  wants  a  change,"  said  Lud- 
lowe.  "If  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  come,  come  he 
will." 

"That  's  what  I  think,"  agreed  Maude. 

"That  is  Bobbie's  way,"  added  Massinger  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  but  he  must  n't !"  said  Mrs.  Baring  in  a  distressed 
way. 

"Well,  there  's  only  one  way  of  stopping  it,"  observed 
Ludlowe,  disposing  of  the  matter  in  his  usual  cool  way. 

"What  is  that  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Baring  quickly. 

"Go  up  to  him." 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Baring  gasped.  Then  she  sat  staring  at 
her  unmoved  nephew  as  she  took  in  the  full  import  of  the 
proposal.  It  would,  of  course,  save  the  expense  of  a 
whole  summer— the  outfit,  the  beaches  and  the  yachting 
—and  she  could  have  the  house  redecorated.  But  then, 
there  was  Maude.  For  the  past  two  years  it  had  suited 
the  wealthy  Miss  Vibart  to  be  chaperoned  by  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing, who  was  socially  so  prominent.  And  then— there 
was  Major  Ludlowe. 

In  return  for  her  chaperonage  Mrs.  Baring  received 
regularly  a  handsome  check.     If  it  meant  losing  her 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS  107 

checks—  She  glanced  furtively  up.  Maude  was  watch- 
ing her  keenly,  divining  perfectly  well  what  was  in  her 
mind. 

"It  's  such  a  long  journey  alone,"  she  said  tentatively. 

"Don't  take  it  alone,  then,"  advised  Ludlowe  promptly. 
He,  too,  was  perfectly  cognizant  of  all  the  ins  and  outs  of 
the  case.  "If  you  think  you  can  take  to  camping  and 
roughing  it  philosophically  and  not  grumble  at  the  vari- 
ous specimens  of  insect  life  sharing  the  daily  round  with 
you,  I  should  like  to  come  myself." 

"J  think  I  should,  too,"  added  Maude,  quietly.  "I 
can't  promise  not  to  mind  the  insects,  but  I  '11  promise 
not  to  express  my  feelings  in  words." 

"That  is  all  that  would  be  required,"  said  Ludlowe. 
"Well,  that  will  be  the  very  thing,  aunt.  If  you  could 
really  get —  Why,  aunt— Massinger,  this  is  just  what 
you  want.  Aunt,  we  must  have  Arthur.  You  could  n't 
choose  a  better  trip  for  your  case,"  turning  to  the  young 
man.  "The  air  in  those  pine  woods  is  the  finest  possible 
thing  for  you !" 

"Yes ;  Errol  is  right,"  approved  Mrs.  Baring,  instantly 
perceiving  that  Arthur  Massinger  was  quite  the  most 
safe  and  harmless  adjunct  to  the  party  possible.  "And 
we  shall  be  most  delighted  to  have  you  join  us.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"Why—  If  you  're  sure  I  should  n't  be  intruding," 
began  Massinger,  slightly  bewildered  at  the  sudden  de- 
velopment of  plans  in  his  behalf.  "I  did  rather  dread  the 
idea  of  taking  a  trip  alone." 

"Well,  then,  we  '11  consider  it  settled,"  said  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing sweetly.    "What  had  we  better  do  first,  Errol  ?" 

"Wire  to  Bobbie,"  replied  Ludlowe  promptly.  "Else 
the  young  gentleman  will  be  following  his  letter  without 
further  ado." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  yes,  to  be  sure,"  agreed  Mrs.  Baring 


io8  GRET 

readily.  "I  should  never  have  thought  of  that.  I  shall 
just  tell  him  that  my  health  is  not  quite  so  good  as  it 
might  be — it  is  n't,  you  know — and  so  we  've  formed  a 
little  party  to  spend  the  summer  with  him— part  of  it, 
anyway.  And  we  '11  say  he  need  not  go  to  any  expense 
or  trouble  to  accommodate  us.  We  can  do  with  what  he 
can.    And  we  '11  say — " 

"I  '11  send  the  wire  some  time  this  afternoon  myself," 
interposed  Ludlowe,  not  without  a  smile  at  the  proposed 
length  of  it.  "So  you  need  not  trouble  about  that.  And 
I  '11  look  up  trains  and  boat  connections  as  far  as  possi- 
ble. All  you  ladies  have  to  do  is  to  tuck  away  your  ward- 
robes as  soon  as  possible." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Ludlowe  despatched  a  telegram 
that  was  a  considerable  abbreviation  of  his  aunt's  text. 
It  merely  ran,  "Vibart,  Ludlowe,  Massinger  and  I  com- 
ing up.    Will  wire  from  Portland.    Mother." 

"That  gives  the  young  man  no  time  for  prevarication 
or  change  of  plans,"  he  remarked  to  Massinger,  who  had 
accompanied  him.  "When  he  receives  this  he  '11  suppose 
we  're  actually  embarking  and  be  dumbfounded." 

"Naturally,"  laughed  Massinger.  "Who  would  n't  be  ?" 

Both  men  were  right  in  their  prophecies.  Bobbie,  re- 
ceiving the  telegram  by  special  messenger  up  from  the 
Harbor,  was  literally  stunned  for  the  moment.  Then 
came  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  almost  of  resentment, 
that  his  own  proposed  trip  was  now  out  of  the  question. 
And  then,  finally,  picturing  his  mother  out  among  his 
present  surroundings,  Bobbie  became  filled  with  glee. 
Flourishing  the  telegram,  he  rushed  into  the  mill  and 
waved  it  in  the  face  of  the  astounded  Fonseker.  That 
gentleman  was  horrified. 

"My  dear  fellow,  what  shall  we  do  with  them  ?"  he  in- 
quired feebly. 

"Stow  them  all  away  somewhere,  of  course,"  said  Bob- 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS  109 

bie.  "We  must  build  more  rooms  onto  our  shack ;  that  's 
all." 

"But— this  sounds  as  if  they  were  already  on  the  way/' 
argued  Fonseker,  staring  blankly  at  his  friend. 

"Oh,  just  about  to  start,  I  expect.  We  've  got  about  a 
week  in  which  to  fix  things  up.  Say,  where  's  Gret  ?  We 
must  tell  her." 

"She  was  here  a  minute  ago,"  said  Fonseker,  glancing 
round,  "talking  to —  There  she  is,"  indicating  a  boat  on 
its  way  up  the  river. 

Bobbie  gave  a  shrill,  prolonged  whistle,  and,  as  Gret 
paused  and  turned  her  head,  waved  the  telegram  in  ex- 
cited circles  above  him.  After  staring  hard  over  her 
shoulder  for  a  moment  or  so,  Gret  decided  something  out 
of  the  ordinary  had  evidently  occurred,  turned  her  boat 
into  the  bank,  tied  it  up  and  climbed  out.  Fonseker  and 
Bobbie  went  forward  to  meet  her,  and  as  they  drew  to- 
gether Bobbie  handed  over  in  weighty  and  dramatic 
silence  the  message  of  import. 

Gret  read  it,  laughed,  and  then  demanded,  even  as 
Fonseker  had  done,  "Well,  where  are  you  going  to  put 
them?" 

"Why,"  began  Bobbie,  placing  both  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  planting  himself  very  firmly  on  the  soft  moss,  "I  'm 
going  to  build  two  more  bedrooms.  And  then  I  '11  put 
carpet  on  the  floors,  and — oh,  I  '11  fix  the  place  up  regard- 
less. You  '11  see !  But  Lord,  Fonseker,  fancy  the  Mater 
among  all  this!"  And  Bobbie  danced  around,  and 
chuckled  in  unfilial  glee. 

Fonseker  looked  far  more  concerned  than  the  approach- 
ing lady's  own  son.  "Even  with  the  best  you  can  do,  I  'm 
afraid  Mrs.  Baring  will  find  it  awfully  rough." 

"Rough!  She  '11  imagine  the  Fiji  Islander  on  his  mat 
under  the  cocoanut-tree  is  not  in  it  with  her  for  a  savage 
life!     Of  course,  Errol  has  been  hunting  all  over  the 


no  GRET 

Rockies.  He  knows  pretty  well  what  life  in  the  back- 
woods is  like.  Besides,  he  's  such  a  cool  customer.  You 
can't  upset  him,  anyway.  Miss  Vibart,  too,  seems  to  take 
things  all  serenely.  I  don't  know  so  much  about  Mas- 
singer.    Seems  an  awfully  nice  fellow — but — " 

''Clergyman,  is  n't  he?"  interposed  Fonseker. 

"Yes;  not  a  bit  preachy-preachy,  though.  I  don't 
imagine  he  '11  care  how  rough  it  is.  Mother  is  the  one 
it  '11  pinch." 

"Oh,  well !  She  '11  hardly  expect  the  comforts  of  civili- 
zation in  the  backwoods." 

"No — oh,  no !"  with  a  grin.  "She  '11  have  made  up  her 
mind  to  do  without  a  maid,  and  I  don't  suppose  she  '11  be 
surprised  to  find  us  without  a  butler.  But — when  it 
comes  to  Anna,  you  know,  and  all  that — "  Bobbie  was 
overcome  with  amusement  and  could  specialize  no  further. 

Fonseker  nodded.  At  the  same  time  he  looked  at  Bob- 
bie with  a  smile,  the  cause  of  which  that  gentleman  was 
far  from  guessing.  It  had  just  occurred  to  Fonseker  that 
among  other  things  up  in  the  great  Northwest  calculated 
to  shock  Mrs.  Baring  might  be  the  change  which  even  so 
short  a  time  had  effected  in  her  son.  And  so  he  looked  at 
that  worthy,  standing  hands  in  pockets,  feet  planted 
widely  apart,  hair  on  end  in  front  and  cap  set  well  on  the 
back  of  the  head,  and  laughed.  Of  course  Bobbie  was 
just  the  same  jolly,  happy-go-lucky  fellow  that  he  had 
always  been,  only— well,  he  had  taken  to  the  free,  rollick- 
ing life  of  the  West  like  a  duck  to  water. 

Gret  stood  considering  matters,  too ;  only  not  of  course 
from  anything  like  Fonseker 's  standpoint.  She  was  just 
trying  to  size  up  in  imagination  the  prospective  arrivals. 
Suddenly  she  decided  it  was  a  foolish  waste  of  effort, 
and  kicked  a  piece  of  bark  into  the  river  by  way  of  sig- 
nalizing a  change  of  thought. 

This    brought    Bobbie,    too,    out    of    his    reflections. 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS  iii 

''Well/'  he  observed  briskly,  "I  'm  going  down  to  the 
Harbor  to  see  about  a  carpenter,  and  the  carpets  and  all 
that.    Any  of  you  boys  want  to  come  ?" 

*'I  would  n't  go  until  I  had  found  out  which  was  the 
best  carpenter,  and  until  I  had  formed  some  definite  idea 
of  what  I  wanted.  Would  you.  Miss  Silway  ?"  said  Fon- 
seker,  with  a  distinct  air  of  pride  in  his  own  increasing 
business  acumen. 

"I  would  n't  go  down  to  the  Harbor  at  all,"  responded 
Gret  coolly.  "Rob  Marco,  down  in  the  gulch,  is  as  good 
a  carpenter  as  you  'd  want,  and  I  believe  you  can  shape 
the  lumber  in  the  mill.  Ask  the  sawyer.  And  Marco  will 
tell  you  how  much  you  want,  and  what  kind,  and  all  that." 

''That  would  be  a  good  idea,  would  n't  it  ?"  agreed  Bob- 
bie brightly. 

"And  I  would  n't  go  down  to  the  Harbor  for  the  car- 
pets, either,"  went  on  Gret.  "They  're  the  awfullest 
things :  great  bunches  of  flowers  all  over  them,  the  kind 
that  nobody  ever  saw  growing  under  the  sun.  Send  a 
letter  to  father,  and  ask  him  to  go  to  one  of  the  furniture 
stores  and  tell  them  to  send  you  what  you  need." 

"But  they  'd  take  so  long  to  get  here,  would  n't  they? 
Could  they  come  at  all,  do  you  think?"  asked  Bobbie 
anxiously. 

"Come?  Why  not?  Only  takes  three  or  four  days. 
Be  here  before  you  had  the  rooms  ready." 

"Well,  but  I  don't  know  what  size  carpets  I  shall  have 
to  have,  you  see,"  objected  Bobbie. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Gret.  "The  carpenter  will 
know  how  large  he  's  going  to  build  the  rooms,  won't  he  ? 
What  's  the  matter  with  you?  Come  along.  Let  's  go 
hunt  the  carpenter." 

That  worthy  craftsman  was  soon  found,  and  then  they 
came  back  to  swell  the  consultation  by  the  addition  of 
Dick  Swinton  and  the  sawyer  out  of  the  mill,    With  the 


112  GRET 

combined  aid  and  advice  of  all  these  the  size  and  location 
of  the  rooms  was  soon  settled.  Three  extra  rooms  were 
decided  upon,  one  of  which  Bobbie  intended  for  a  sitting- 
room  for  the  ladies. 

"They  can't  very  well  sit  in  the  room  that  we  dine  in, 
and  all  that,"  he  remarked. 

Then  the  carpenter  and  the  sawyer  departed  to  get 
things  under  way  at  once,  and  to  Bobbie  and  his  con- 
freres was  left  the  task  of  settling  the  furniture  question. 

"I  know  exactly  what  to  put  in  the  room  for  Errol  and 
Massinger,"  said  Bobbie;  ''but  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know 
how  to  set  up  a  ladies'  room.    Do  you,  Fonseker?" 

"Well,  you  have  to  have  a  dressing-table  affair,  with  a 
large  mirror,  and  an  aperture  for  their  knees  to  fit  in 
when  they  sit  down,"  began  Fonseker  sagely,  speaking 
in  much  the  same  way  as  if  he  were  describing  a  cage  for 
some  rare  animal  of  peculiar  habits. 

"Yes;  and  then,  as  there  's  no  dressing-room,  we  '11 
have  to  have  a—  Good  gracious !"  Bobbie  looked  tragic. 
"What  will  they  do  for  a  bath?" 

This  settled  the  listening  Gret.  Her  scorn  of  the 
totally  unnecessary  requirements  of  the  coming  women 
had  been  increasing  as  time  went  on. 

"Pshaw !"  she  broke  in.  "Bath !  Are  n't  there  plenty 
of  wash-tubs  in  the  kitchen?" 

Fonseker  and  Baring  broke  into  shouts  of  laughter. 
"Is  that  what  you  do,  Gret?" 

''Not  in  the  kitchen,"  responded  Gret  sturdily,  but 
smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at  sight  of  their  unfeigned 
mirth.    "How  do  you  bathe,  then?" 

"Yes— we  have  to  use  a  tub,  of  course,"  admitted  Bob- 
bie, trying  to  control  his  face. 

"Oh,  well,"  put  in  Dick,  "these  ladies  know  they  're 
coming  out  into  the  woods.  They  won't  expect  no  first- 
class  New  York  hotel." 


PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  BACKWOODS  113 

"Do  you  know  the  size  of  all  the  carpets?"  demanded 
Gret. 

"No — we  must  measure  the  dining-room,"  answered 
Bobbie  quickly.  "The  carpenter's  going  to  make  the 
other  rooms  fourteen  feet  square." 

A  procession  formed  and  repaired  to  the  dining-room, 
where  Bobbie  proceeded  to  measure  the  floor  by  striding 
across  it  with  uncertain  gait  and  pronouncing  it  to  be 
"about  thirteen  feet." 

"About,"  echoed  Gret  in  amazement  at  such  methods. 
"Suppose  your  carpet  came  'about'  a  foot  too  small. 
You  'd  look  fine,  would  n't  you?"  She  returned  to  the 
broadly  smiling  Dick,  a  request  on  her  lips.  It  was  not 
necessary  to  utter  it,  however,  for  that  gentleman  quietly 
drew  from  a  capacious  hip  pocket  a  folding  foot-rule. 

Gret  took  it,  and  with  characteristic  unconcern  dropped 
onto  her  knees,  and  in  that  position  measured  off  the  floor 
under  the  supervising  eye  of  Dick  Swinton.  It  was  dis- 
covered to  be  thirteen  feet  six  inches  one  way,  and  thir- 
teen feet  ten  inches  the  other. 

"Quite  a  difference,"  remarked  Bobbie  blandly. 

"You  bet;  and  that  's  just  what  you  'd  have  thought 
when  the  carpet  came  according  to  your  measuring." 

"Well,  I  have  got  to  go,"  said  Dick,  and  with  a  cheerful 
nod  to  the  group  he  walked  off  to  the  camp. 

The  remaining  three  got  pen,  ink  and  paper  and  sat 
down  to  indite  the  all-important  epistle.  Bobbie,  the 
scribe,  sat  in  the  middle,  with  Gret  and  Fonseker  on 
either  side.  And  faithfully  and  conscientiously  did  the 
girl  ransack  her  memory  to  enumerate  all  that  could  be 
reasonably  demanded,  according  to  her  way  of  thinking. 

As  Bobbie  clapped  everything  down  on  paper  as  soon 
as  it  was  mentioned,  afterward  amending  it  according 
to  consultation,  the  list  when  finally  completed  was  com- 
plicated in  the  extreme.    One  thing  only  was  plain,  and 


114  GRET 

that  was  the  need  for  immediate  despatch.  Then  the  three 
decided  that  a  fitting  end  to  such  an  expeditious  business 
transaction  would  be  to  row  down  to  the  Harbor  and  see 
themselves  that  the  letter  was  safely  mailed.  Which  was 
accordingly  done.  After  which  the  committee,  as  Bobbie 
called  it,  returned  home  and  retired  to  its  several  couches, 
worn  out  with  the  strenuous  mental  and  physical  en- 
deavors of  the  day. 

The  extra  rooms  were  completed  in  three  days,  being 
but  roughly  built,  of  course,  in  accordance  with  the  rest 
of  the  house.  And  on  the  fifth  day  the  consignment  of 
furniture  arrived  from  Portland.  Then  followed  times 
of  the  wildest  excitement  while  the  goods  were  hauled  up 
from  the  boat  and  installed  in  what  was  considered  to  be 
their  rightful  places  by  the  committee,  aided  by  a  push 
here  and  a  pat  there  by  the  Unutterable  Anna,  as  Bobbie 
had  long  since  dubbed  her. 

Many  were  the  anxious  discussions  and  more  or  less 
stormy  arguments  before  all  was  said  and  done;  but 
finally  the  last  piece  of  furniture,  beaming  with  polish 
and  newness,  was  tugged  into  its  place,  and  then  the  com- 
mittee sat  down  and  pronounced  its  work  very  good. 

Almost  all  the  camp,  which  felt  a  sort  of  proprietorship 
in  the  young  mill-owners,  came  down  to  view  their  en- 
larged residence.  And  as  all  the  display  and  effort  was 
for  the  benefit  of  the  mother  of  one  of  them,  it  was  com- 
mended and  admired,  where  it  would  otherwise  un- 
doubtedly have  been  condemned  as  showing  a  desire  to 
adopt  airs. 

Then  when  all  was  done  that  could  be  done,  and  seen 
that  could  be  seen,  both  committee  and  community 
awaited  with  impatience  the  arrival  of  the  distinguished 
guests. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.  BARING  MEETS  THE  " 

MRS.  BARING  enjoyed  her  trip  to  Portland,  and  con- 
descended to  greatly  admire  that  city  upon  looking 
it  over.  A  wire  was  sent  to  Bobbie  to  join  the  party  there, 
as  they  purposed  remaining  a  few  days  before  starting  on 
the  final  stages  of  the  journey.  Ludlowe  wanted  to  pur- 
chase a  launch,  and  he  thought  it  advisable  to  learn  from 
Bobbie  a  few  particulars  of  the  waters  upon  which  it 
would  be  required  to  run.  So  Bobbie  came,  and  Mrs. 
Baring's  cup  of  complacency  was  full.  To  be  sure,  there 
was  a  sort  of  slap-dash  air  about  the  young  man  which 
jarred  slightly  on  a  cultured  understanding;  but  Mrs. 
Baring  reflected  that  this  was  hardly  to  be  wondered  at. 
And  as  Bobbie,  impressed  himself  by  his  temporary  re- 
turn to  civilization,  was  on  his  most  careful  and  best  be- 
havior, all  went  well. 

But  alas,  a  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  the  scene 
when  at  Sooginaw  Junction  they  boarded  the  little  local 
train  that  was  one  of  the  various  Hnks  in  the  journey 
which  would  eventually  land  them  at  Quellish  Harbor. 
Here  was  no  Pullman,  but  just  one  common  car  into 
which  all— all — entered!  Mrs.  Baring's  face  lost  its 
contented  serenity,  and  a  look  of  thinly  veiled  horror  and 
disgust  appeared,  which,  by  the  way,  no  one  seemed  to 
notice. 

At  Granite  Harbor  they  all  went  on  board  the  little 
steamer  which  was  the  next  link  on  the  way,  and  here 
conditions  were  even  worse.     It  was  either  a  matter  of 

"5 


ii6     .  GRET 

standing  out  on  deck  or  herding  in  the  one  small,  stuffy 
cabin  with  all  and  everything  on  the  boat.  Fortunately 
the  weather  was  pleasant,  and  Mrs.  Baring  was  able  to 
keep  on  deck,  safely  glued  to  the  side  of  one  or  other  of 
her  party.  She  observed  how  Ludlowe  and  Massinger 
were  accosted  by  men  who  generally  seemed  to  evince 
immediate  interest  and  curiosity  as  to  the  date  of  their  ar- 
rival in  those  parts  and  the  probable  length  of  their  stay, 
and  felt  that  she  would  faint  if  subjected  to  a  like  indig- 
nity. However,  luck  and  an  unprepossessing  expression 
saved  her  this  last  straw ;  and  finally,  after  many  changes 
and  tribulations,  the  party  arrived  at  Quellish.  Here  they 
were  met  by  Bertie  Fonseker,  who  was  still,  Mrs.  Baring 
reflected  with  a  little  inward  sigh  of  relief,  his  own 
gentle,  aristocratic  self.  ^ 

Mrs.  Baring  boarded  the  Transfer  in  trepidation  of 
spirit.  "Is  it  safe?"  she  inquired  anxiously,  surveying 
with  distrust  the  flat,  barge-like  deck  that  was  almost 
level  with  the  water. 

"Hope  so,"  responded  Bobbie  blandly.  "All  we  have 
to  get  up  and  down  the  river  on !"  And  so  Mrs.  Baring 
resigned  herself  with  a  little  hopeless  sigh  to  fate  and 
the  Transfer. 

The  other  members  of  the  party  were  all  greatly  inter- 
ested in  the  journey  up  the  river,  at  the  various  landings 
and  the  still  more  various  specimens  that  appeared  upon 
them.  Mrs.  Baring  noted  with  amazement  that  Bobbie 
was  frequently  hailed  with  great  familiarity,  and  grieved 
a  little  to  think  that  he  had  not,  in  consideration  of  his 
position  as  mill-owner,  preserved  a  greater  show  of  dig- 
nity among  the  natives — as  she  mentally  termed  the  un- 
suspecting dwellers  on  the  Wishkah. 

As  the  Transfer  was  within  a  few  minutes'  run  of  Sil- 
way's  landing,  a  scene  typical  of  their  new  home  ap- 
peared.   Round  the  bend  of  the  river  floated  a  raft  of 


THE  "CAMP-GIRL"  117 

splendid  logs,  and  on  it  in  one  of  her  fine,  dare-devil 
poses  was  the  redoubtable  Gret.  In  a  boat  tied  to  the  tail 
of  the  raft  was  Oly,  lolling  in  a  state  of  complete  abandon. 

As  the  raft  bore  down  upon  them,  swinging  sharply 
with  the  newly-turned  tide,  the  Transfer  scuffled  hastily 
off  into  backwater.  One  of  the  wide,  triangular  sides  of 
the  raft  touched  her,  however,  and  then,  as  if  shuddering 
at  the  contact,  rippled  the  whole  of  its  sinuous  length. 
Gret  swayed  like  a  willow  in  a  wind-storm,  and  with 
about  as  much  ease;  but  Mrs.  Baring  was  horrified. 

''Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  she  cried.  "That  girl  will  be 
drowned." 

"Pooh,  not  she!"  said  Bobbie,  rushing  to  the  side  of 
the  Transfer  and  waving  his  cap.  "It  's  Gret.  Hello, 
Gret!  I  Ve  got  'em — see!"  with  a  wave  of  his  hand 
toward  the  astonished  group  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Baring  was  perfectly  scandalized.  "My  dear!" 
she  gasped. 

Bobbie  turned  an  innocent  face  over  his  shoulder. 
"What?  Oh!  Oh,  pooh,  mother;  you  're  in  the  back- 
woods now,  not  in  Golden  Gate  Park." 

"I  know.  Still,  you  should  preserve  a  slight  semblance 
of — of — "  Mrs.  Baring  saved  herself  the  trouble  of 
specifying  what,  for  Bobbie  had  already  begun  to  explain 
to  his  interested  friends  the  progress  of  the  log  from  the 
tree  to  the  raft.  "Who  is  that  girl — what  do  you  call  her 
— Gret?"  she  inquired  then,  during  a  momentary  pause 
in  Bobbie's  discourse. 

"Big  camp  above  us — Silway's — where  we  get  our 
logs,"  said  Bobbie  in  a  rapid  aside,  and  then  resumed  his 
discussion  of  the  intricacies  of  logging. 

Mrs.  Baring  did  not  listen,  not  being  particularly  in- 
terested in  logging  processes,  but  stood  surveying  the 
passing  banks  of  the  river  with  a  certain  dismal,  tired 
expression  of  countenance.    She  saw  no  beauty  in  their 


ii8  GRET 

overhanging  luxuriousness,  and  found  nothing  of  in- 
terest, but  much  of  distaste,  in  the  Hfe  that  was  just 
being  introduced  to  her.  For  that  reason  her  soul  was 
tired  and  jaded  within  her. 

When  at  last  the  Baring-Fonseker  establishment  was 
reached,  Mrs.  Baring  was  so  glad  to  find  herself  once 
more  sheltered  from  the  gaze  of  a  seemingly  vastly  in- 
terested pubHc,  that  she  made  no  comment  on  the  appear- 
ance of  her  new  home,  but  sat  down  and  smiled  weakly. 
This  was  taken  by  the  happily  indiscriminating  Bobbie  to 
betoken  unqualified  satisfaction,  and  he  dilated  to  his 
audience  upon  the  rapid  and  clever  way  in  which  they 
had  all  turned  to  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  "fixed  things.'* 
Ludlowe  and  Massinger,  having  really  some  idea  of  what 
had  been  accomplished,  gave  liberal  and  unstinted  praise, 
and  both  proprietors  beamed  with  satisfaction.  Then  the 
guests  retired  to  their  apartments  to  refresh  themselves 
and  perform  an  impromptu  dinner  toilet;  while  Bobbie 
strolled  round  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  went  into  the 
kitchen  and  comforted  the  expectant  Anna,  and  ex- 
changed views  with  Bertie. 

The  dinner  passed  off  without  any  serious  break  in  the 
serenity  of  the  social  atmosphere,  although  Mrs.  Baring 
was  secretly  horrified  both  at  the  meal  and  the  serving 
thereof.  She  vowed  to  change  matters  as  soon  as  she 
could  grasp  the  situation  well  enough  to  know  where  she 
stood.  While  Anna,  having  no  conception  whatever  of 
the  relationship  of  the  modern  lady  of  the  house  and  her 
servant,  was  immediately  indignant  at  receiving  no  greet- 
ing and  being  completely  ignored,  and  signalized  her  dis- 
pleasure by  serving  the  next  course  with  a  decided  sniff. 
Mrs.  Baring  was  amazed  afresh. 

"What  an  uncouth  girl!  I  must  see  about  changing 
her  as  soon  as  I  understand  anything  about  housekeeping 
in  these  parts." 


THE  ^^CAMP-GIRU'  119 

"Well,  if  you  do,  that  's  just  where  your  trouble  will 
begin,"  said  Bobbie  with  a  warning  nod  of  the  head. 
"Anna  's  a  peach  as  girls  go  out  here." 

"A  what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Baring. 

"A  peach,"  repeated  Bobbie  unconcernedly.  "I  thought 
just  as  you  do  when  I  first  came  up.  But  now  I  know 
difiPerent.  Bertie  knows,  don't  you,  Bert?"  appealing  to 
that  gentleman. 

"Yes,  indeed;  Anna  is  very  desirable  as  domestics  go 
in  these  parts,"  coincided  Bertie  gently.  "Most  of  them 
are  ignorant  Swedish  or  Norwegian  girls,  straight  from 
the  cabins  or  from  the  old  country.  But  we  have  suc- 
ceeded in  giving  Anna  a  few  general  ideas  as  to  how 
things  should  be  done." 

"Good  gracious  me !"  said  Mrs.  Baring,  trying  to  real- 
ize such  a  hopeless  state  of  affairs. 

Bobbie  grinned  in  open  lack  of  sympathy,  and  the  rest 
of  the  assembly  smiled  more  or  less  overtly.  But  Mrs. 
Baring  looked  blank  during  the  rest  of  the  meal,  and 
conversation  flourished  without  any  further  contribution 
on  her  part. 

The  greater  part  of  the  following  day  was  spent  by  the 
two  women  in  disposing  of  their  effects  as  well  as  might 
be  in  such  accommodations  and  receptacles  as  were  to 
hand.  Probably  both  were  a  trifle  appalled  at  the  life  that 
for  the  next  few  months  lay  before  them ;  but  neither 
uttered  a  word  of  complaint  or  apprehension.  To  each 
one  contemplation  of  the  original  motive  was  solace 
enough.  Mrs.  Baring  thought  of  a  recouped  bank-ac- 
count and  redecorated  house,  and  Maude  reflected  on 
three  months'  matchless  opportunity  to  be  near  Ludlowe 
and  to  demonstrate  her  worth  as  a  cheerful  and  sensible 
companion  through  any  and  all  circumstances.  No 
woman  had  a  better  chance  with  a  man  than  was  before 
her  now,  she  knew — thrown  into  daily  companionship, 


I20  GRET 

with  no  other  woman  about  to  attract  or  divert  attention. 
Of  course,  Gret  did  not  count ! 

As  for  the  men,  their  simpler  wardrobes  were  soon  dis- 
posed of,  and  they  salHed  forth  to  be  shown  round  by  the 
attentive  hosts.  During  the  performance  of  this  hospita- 
ble duty,  Bobbie  remarked  with  surprise  that  Gret  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  As  it  happened,  that  young  lady  was 
exceedingly  busy  upon  this  particular  day.  A  raft  went 
down  to  the  mills,  logs  were  taken  up  into  the  boom,  and 
logs  came  down  the  skid-road;  and  though  anxious  to 
inspect  the  new  arrivals  at  close  range,  yet  Gret  wisely 
reflected  that,  interesting  though  they  undoubtedly  were, 
they  would  be  there  every  day  for  her  inspection,  whereas 
every  day  did  not  offer  for  her  delectation  such  a  stirring 
program  as  this  one.  Therefore  she  was  invisible  for  the 
better  part  of  the  day. 

In  the  evening,  however,  just  before  shutting-down 
time,  Dick  sent  her  down  to  the  mill  with  a  message  to 
the  bolter.  It  was  also  just  a  little  before  the  Barings' 
dinner-hour,  and  Mrs.  Baring,  her  arrangements  for  the 
day  completed  and  having  nothing  particular  to  do, 
strolled  across  to  the  mill  in  search  of  Bobbie,  of  whom 
she  had  not  so  far  seen  very  much.  She  reached  the 
building,  and  entered  gingerly  over  the  sawdust-strewn 
threshold.  Standing  just  inside  was  Gret.  Mrs.  Baring's 
eyes  fell  on  her  immediately,  and  her  lips  took  on  a  de- 
cidedly supercilious  curve,  as  she  lifted  her  dainty  skirts, 
and  stood  hesitating  whether  or  not  to  enter  further. 
And  then,  seeing  that  Gret  did  not  shrink  away  in  a 
properly  obsequious  manner,  she  gave  that  enterprising 
little  lady  an  inquiring  glance  of  arrogance.  What  was 
this  camp-girl  doing  here  in  her  son's  mill  ?  Waiting  for 
him  to  appear,  she  supposed.  This  kind  of  girl  was 
brazen  enough  for  anything.  These  reflections  and  more 
were  expressed  in  the  august  lady's  stare. 


THE  ^^CAMP-GIRL"  121 

As  for  Gret,  she  in  turn  surveyed  the  visitor  with  a  cool, 
unwavering  interest  that  was  considerably  tinged  with 
amusement.  She  was  just  wondering  whether  this  was 
the  lady's  natural  expression.  If  it  were,  Gret  considered 
her  unfortunate,  especially  as  long  as  she  remained  on 
the  Wishkah. 

Presently,  enraged  at  the  general  lack  of  respect  dis- 
played in  the  looks  of  those  about  her,  Mrs.  Baring 
turned  and,  with  an  expression  of  more  pronounced  dis- 
gust than  ever  on  her  countenance,  departed  the  way  she 
had  come.  As  she  disappeared  a  roar  of  laughter  went 
round  the  mill,  whose  hands  had  been  to  a  man  interested 
spectators  of  the  dumb  pantomime  just  enacted.  Faint 
strains  of  this  mirth  reached  Mrs.  Baring's  ears  as  she 
stepped  carefully  and  daintily  on  her  way,  and  did  not 
tend  to  restore  her  good  humor.  And  she  did  not  forget 
to  voice  her  indignation  as  they  all  gathered  round  the 
dinner-table. 

''I  went  across  to  the  mill  this  afternoon,"  she  said  with 
an  air  of  severity  and  addressing  Bobbie  more  particu- 
larly; "and  that  camp-girl  was  there.  What  does  she 
want,  hanging  about  the  mill  in  that  way  ?" 

Both  Bobbie  and  Bertie  looked  amazed,  and  it  took 
Bobbie  fully  a  minute  to  grasp  his  mother's  meaning. 

"Do  you  mean  Gret?"  he  inquired  open-eyed. 

"I  think  you  did  call  her  by  some  such  name — yes." 

Bobbie's  indignation  was  immediate,  unfeigned  and 
undisguised.  "How  idiotic  to  talk  in  such  a  way,  mother ! 
Camp-girl !  Why  her  father  owns  that  camp,  and  acres 
and  acres  of  timber— in  fact,  about  all  this  timber 
round  about  us.  We  have  to  pay  him  for  every  log  we 
get  into  our  mill.  You  bet,  you  wish  you  owned  as 
much !" 

Mrs.  Baring  was  secretly  a  little  astonished.  But  she 
would  not  show  it. 


122  GRET 

"That  may  be.  Nevertheless,  I  fail  to  see  what  she  can 
want  in  the  mill.  No  nice  girl  would  want  to  hang  about 
a  place  full  of  rough  men.  But  she  certainly  looks  brazen 
enough  for  anything." 

"Well,  she  is  n't!"  almost  shouted  Bobbie,  filial  cour- 
tesy quite  forgotten  in  righteous  indignation.  "There  's 
no  nicer  girl  living.  She  's  a  girl  that  no  fellow  would 
dream  of  saying  anything  to  that  was  n't  just  so.  None 
of  her  father's  men,  and  none  of  our  men  either,  ever  say 
anything  out  of  the  way  before  her.    Do  they,  Bert?" 

"No,"  corroborated  that  gentleman  in  his  quiet  way. 
"She  is  quite  nice,  really,  Mrs.  Baring.  You  would  be 
surprised  if  you  were  to  know  her,  really." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  improve  the  acquaintanceship," 
observed  Mrs.  Baring  sarcastically. 

"Don't  trouble,"  said  Bobbie  with  equal  sarcasm.  "You 
won't  get  the  chance.  I  can  see  that.  There  's  only  one 
good  thing— Gret  's  too  sensible  a  girl  to  take  any  notice 
of  the  ridiculous  way  you  act  toward  her.  Otherwise 
she  'd  make  things  jolly  uncomfortable  for  us." 

"Really!"  Mrs.  Baring  was  offended,  both  at  Bobbie's 
tone  and  the  sentiments  expressed.  "How  can  she  possi- 
bly affect  your  comfort?" 

"You  'd  soon  see,"  grimly.  "She  manages  the  mill 
practically." 

Mrs.  Baring  looked  astonished  and  indignant  at  this 
assertion ;  and  the  rest  of  the  assembly,  who  had  so  far 
been  more  or  less  amused,  looked  surprised  also. 

"What  nonsense  are  you  talking,  Bobbie?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Baring  then.  "What  are  you  two  men  here  for, 
then  ?" 

"To  draw  the  money,"  laconically.  "Oh  now,  you  can 
all  look  incredulous,  but  it  's  true.  Bertie  can  tell  you. 
The  mill  was  just  bound  to  smash— and  smash  badly— 
when  I  got  here.    Is  n't  that  so,  Bertie  ?" 


THE  "CAMP-GIRL"  123 

Bertie  looked  slightly  confused,  but  nevertheless  bent 
his  head  in  corroboration  of  the  damaging  statement. 

"You  bet  it  was !"  went  on  Bobbie,  indignant  still  and 
forgetful  of  the  discomfort  he  might  be  causing  his 
friend.  "Bertie  did  n't  know  a  thing  about  running  a 
shingle-mill;  neither  did  I.  And  there  is  a  whole  lot  to 
know.  Gret  had  told  the  other  fellow,  Transome,  at  the 
start  just  what  mistakes  they  were  making,  but  he 
would  n't  listen  to  her.  So  he  drew  out  in  time  to  escape 
the  smash.  But  when  I  came  she  was  sorry  for  me,  and 
offered  to  do  what  she  could  to  help.  And  she  just  actu- 
ally took  the  mill  right  over,  for  a  time,  and  you  see  how 
she  pulled  it  out  of  the  mud.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask 
Bertie  here.  He  '11  tell  you  the  same  thing,  and  perhaps 
you  '11  believe  him." 

"I  am  not  doubting  your  statements,"  said  his  mother, 
still  in  an  offended  tone;  "but  it  's  certainly  difficult  to 
realize  why  two  men  should  not  be  able  to  do  as  much  as 
a  mere  girl." 

"I  don't  see  why  it  's  difficult.  Anyhow,  it  's  so,"  re- 
sponded Bobbie  decidedly.  "The  explanation  is  easy 
enough.  There  is  n't  a  man  down  at  the  Harbor  con- 
nected with  the  timber  trade  but  knows  her ;  there  is  n't 
a  man  or  woman  in  all  this  locality  up  here  but  knows 
her,  too.  And  there  is  n't  one  of  them  would  see  her 
make  a  mistake.  She  went  down  to  the  Harbor  and 
fetched  out  of  those  mills  there  the  best  men  there  were 
to  be  had;  she  got  only  the  finest  lumber  out  of  her 
father's  camp ;  and  she  watched  over  this  mill  of  ours  day 
and  night  almost.  And  then  her  father  sent  us  lots  of 
orders  from  the  city." 

"Oh,  well!  Of  course,  I  can  understand  that  benefit- 
ing you,"  allowed  Mrs.  Baring,  referring  to  the  last 
clause  in  her  son's  statement. 

"Her  father  sent  the  orders  just  the  same  before  Gret 


124  GRET 

had  anything  to  do  with  the  mill,"  said  Bobbie  quickly; 
"but  they  were  n't  filled  rightly.  Well,  anyway,"  with  an 
air  of  dismissing  the  subject,  '*it  does  n't  make  any  differ- 
ence what  you  think  of  Gret.  Only  if  you  offend  her  you 
offend  all  the  locality,  for  it  's  most  of  it  connected  with 
the  camp  in  some  way  or  other." 

"What  a  pity  I  did  n't  know  all  this  a  little  sooner," 
remarked  Mrs.  Baring  with  gentle  sarcasm,  "so  that,  on 
seeing  her,  I  could  have  made  obeisance." 

Bobbie  laughed,  his  usual  good  humor  returning.  "All 
right.  You  '11  see,"  he  said.  And  therewith  resigned  his 
mother  to  her  fate. 

As  for  Gret,  she  was  perfectly  unconcerned  over  what 
was  to  her  merely  an  episode  of  passing  amusement.  She 
did  not  even  mention  the  matter  to  the  camp,  whither  she 
returned  to  supper.  Instead,  being  tired  with  the  long 
day's  activity,  she  went  early  to  bed  and  forgot  it  all  in 
sound,  dreamless  sleep. 

In  the  morning  she  awoke  with  the  sweet  May  sun- 
shine full  in  her  eyes.  She  sprang  up  with  that  eager, 
glad  resumption  of  life  that  is  one  of  the  greatest  gifts 
of  a  sound  body  and  clear  mind,  and  dressed  in  her  usual 
rapid  way.  She  descended  the  bluff  in  break-neck  style, 
sprang  into  the  boat,  and  was  up  in  the  camp  before  the 
men  were  well  out  of  their  bunks.  And  then,  when 
breakfast  was  over,  and  the  men  turned  to,  she  decided 
to  go  down  to  the  mill  for  a  while.  She  would  make  it 
her  business  to  see  that  peculiar  woman  again.  She 
would  see  the  other  three  arrivals,  too,  and  learn  what 
they  were  like. 

She  struck  out  in  a  bee-line  from  the  camp  to  the  path 
down  the  river.  Down  in  the  hollows  and  up  on  the 
bluffs  she  went,  her  feet  too  light  to  walk  or  do  anything 
but  dance.  She  was  like  a  young  animal,  intoxicated 
with  the  beauty  of  the  earth  and  life  and  living. 


THE  "CAMP-GIRL''  125 

On  one  of  the  upri&i.i;.s  of  the  path  she  stood  a  mo- 
ment. A  strong  breath  of  the  morning  rose  to  her  nos- 
trils and  she  breathed  it  in — the  warm,  rich  earth  smell, 
that  vibrating  down  some  animal  cord  that  fold  on  fold 
of  evolution  has  not  effaced,  can  stir  always  the  pulse  of 
those  reared  close  to  nature.  Gret  breathed  it  in,  and  her 
breast  swelled  with  the  volume  of  it.  It  ran  down  her 
veins  like  wine,  and  she  stared  before  her  into  many- 
colored  vistas  like  a  dazed  thing,  carried  out  of  herself 
by  something  hypnotic  and  potential  rising  out  of  the 
earth  to  her.  And  just  for  a  moment  she  did  not  notice 
Ludlowe,  walking  slowly  up  the  path  toward  her. 

Ludlowe  examined  Gret  with  critical  eyes,  both  on  ac- 
count of  what  Bobbie  had  said  and  because  of  something 
oddly  striking  in  her  appearance.  She  was  very  interest- 
ing, this  woman-creature  out  of  another  world.  She  was 
not  pretty— not  in  a  conventional  way.  There  was  some- 
thing quaint  and  taking  about  her  face ;  that  was  all.  But 
Ludlowe  admired  again  the  beautiful  poise  of  her  body — 
not  very  tall,  and  slim,  but  so  lithe,  so  sinuous,  with  such 
velvet-smooth  grace  of  action ;  a  body  in  perfect  muscular 
harmony.  Ludlowe  decided  that  this  poise  must  be  the 
secret  of  her  distinctive  charm.  Because  it  certainly  was 
not  beauty. 

In  a  moment  Gret  had  perceived  him,  and  returned  in 
full  the  measure  of  interest  meted  out  to  her.  She,  too, 
saw  a  creature  of  another  world,  and  was  quick  to  note, 
or  rather  to  try  and  trace,  the  evident  points  of  distinc- 
tion and  difference.  Was  it  in  the  way  his  clothes  had 
of  hanging  on  him,  or  in  the  expression  of  the  eyes  that 
had  seen  and  knew  so  much?  Or — or  what?  He  was 
quite  different  from  the  men  round  about  her;  that  was 
plain  even  to  her— one  of  the  same  kind  as  Bertie  and 
Bobbie,  only  more  so— more  of  a  man. 

Ludlowe  passed  on,  and  Gret,  too,  started  on  her  way 


126  GRET 

again.  She  was  glad  of  the  advent  of  these  people  fresh 
from  the  big  outside  world.  As  a  rule,  life  in  the  woods 
was  like  playing  a  game  without  any  pieces  on  the  board ; 
and  the  new  people  promised  new  interests. 

There  was  no  sign  of  either  Bobbie  or  Bertie  about  the 
mill  as  Gret  entered.  But  she  was  hailed  immediately  by 
Ritchie,  the  sawyer. 

"Hallo,  Gret!  Dick  about  the  boom  when  you  came 
down  ?" 

"No ;  up  on  the  grounds,"  replied  Gret,  coming  to  the 
man's  side  and  watching  the  whirling  saw  with  a  sort  of 
admiration;  it  was  so  powerful  and  resistless. 

"How  soon  are  you  going  back  up  ?"  demanded  Ritchie 
then. 

"Not  yet  a  while.    Why  ?"  asked  Gret. 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  perhaps  you  were;  that  's  all. 
Yesterday  I  told  Dick  I  did  n't  think  we  'd  be  able  to 
start  on  that  J.  C.  Ban  order  this  week,  but  I  see  we  shall. 
I  just  thought  perhaps  it  would  save  him  booming  those 
logs;  that  's  all.  He  could  have  rafted  'em  right  down. 
But  it  '^  all  right  if  you  're  not  going  back  up,"  concluded 
Ritchie  amiably,  knowing  full  well  that  Gret  would  run 
a  mile  to  save  the  men  half  an  hour's  unnecessary  work. 

She  looked  exasperated  now,  and  regarded  him  with  a 
comical  frown.  "Bother !"  she  muttered,  and  then  turned 
and  walked  out  of  the  mill  in  her  own  abrupt  way.  The 
actual  walk  up  to  the  felling  grounds  and  back  was  noth- 
ing to  her ;  but  she  had  come  down  to  the  mill  determined 
to  see  the  other  two  of  the  new  arrivals.  However,  she 
reflected  philosophically  that  there  would  be  plenty  of 
opportunities  in  which  to  study  them. 

Gret  reached  the  camp,  and  was  about  to  pass  right  on 
through  to  the  skid-road,  when  two  things  claimed  her 
attention  and  called  a  temporary  halt.  One  was  the  sight 
of  the  interesting  man  from  the  mill-house,  seated  on  a 


THE  "CAMP-GIRU'  127 

log,  smoking,  and  apparently  watching  the  camp  pro- 
ceedings with  interest;  and  the  other  was  the  sight  of 
Jake  within  the  cook-house,  violently  gesticulating  in 
order  to  attract  her  attention  as  she  passed.  Gret  jumped 
off  the  road,  and  went  toward  the  cook-house. 

"Say!"  began  Jake,  an  apple  in  one  hand,  a  peeling 
knife  in  the  other,  and  a  chunk  of  apple  in  his  mouth. 
"That 's  one  of  them  people  down  at  the  mill-house,  is  n't 
it?"    Gret  nodded. 

"Looks  kind  of  lonesome,  does  n't  he?"  observed  Jake. 

Gret  contemplated  the  distant  figure  a  moment.  She 
had  not  been  struck  herself  with  anything  forlorn  in  his 
appearance.  However,  of  course  he  might  be  feeling 
strange. 

"Be  kind  of  nice  and  neighborly  to  go  up  and  tell  him 
a  few  words,  eh?"  wondered  Jake.  "We  could  tell  him 
to  make  himself  at  home,  and  walk  around  as  much  as  he 
wants  to." 

Gret  was  undecided. 

"I  believe  he  'd  walk  about  if  he  wanted  to,"  she  said 
dubiously.  "Still— he  might  like  to  have  us  say  some- 
thing friendly.  There  's  no  telling  with  these  kind  of 
people." 

Jake  hastily  called  to  Charlie,  the  second  cook,  to  make 
up  the  fire  in  the  cook-stove,  opened  a  near-by  drawer  and 
pulled  out  a  clean  apron,  donned  it,  adjusted  his  coat, 
patted  his  hair  and  started  for  the  door.  "Come  on !"  he 
called  over  his  shoulder  to  Gret,  and  that  young  woman 
started  obediently  to  follow. 

Ludlowe  was  in  a  mildly  contemplative  mood  this 
morning.  He  was  enjoying  a  peaceful  cigar  and  devoutly 
hoping  that  nothing  would  occur  to  disturb  his  enjoy- 
ment. But  he  eyed  the  couple  advancing  upon  him,  in 
single  file  and  with  business-like  gait,  with  curiosity 
tinged  with  amusement. 


128  GRET 

Jake  advanced  and  gave  what  he  imag-ined  to  be  a  care- 
less and  unstudied  nod  of  good  fellowship.  ''Good 
morning !" 

"Good  morning,  too,"  added  Gret,  ranging  herself 
alongside,  having  suddenly  reflected  that  to  remain  in  the 
background  would  be  to  convey  the  impression  that  Jake 
was  spokesman  for  the  whole  delegation. 

"Good  morning,  three,"  said  Ludlowe  gravely. 

Gret  stared;  so  did  Jake,  while  Ludlowe  regarded 
both  with  grave  composure.  Then  Gret,  to  whom  a 
humorous  situation  never  appealed  in  vain,  longed  to 
creep  off  somewhere  and  laugh  to  her  heart's  content; 
while  Jake,  in  something  of  the  same  state  of  mind  him- 
self, curled  the  corner  of  his  apron  with  great  rapidity 
and  then  snorted  right  out,  whigh  was  immediately  Gret's 
undoing.  She  was  taken  with  one  of  her  uncontrollable 
fits  of  mirth,  and  very  nearly  cried  with  laughter.  Lud- 
lowe laughed  softly  too. 

Then  Jake  essayed  to  straighten  his  face  and  apologize. 
"Say,  this  is  a  great  way  to  act  first  show-off,  stran- 
ger." 

"It  's  all  right,"  said  Ludlo^Ye  good-humoredly.  "If 
this  young  lady,"  indicating  the  still  shaking  Gret,  "ever 
recovers  safely,  there  will  be  no  harm  done." 

"Oh,  she  '11  come  round  all  right,"  said  Jake,  casting 
an  experienced  eye  on  the  girl.  "She  has  those  fits  now 
and  again.  We  thought  we  'd  come  and  tell  you  to  walk 
around  and  make  yourself  quite  at  home." 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  responded  Ludlowe  quietly,  betraying 
by  no  sign  the  superfluity  of  the  permission. 

"And  come  in  and  have  lunch  with  us,  or  dinner,  when- 
ever you  feel  like  it,"  went  on  Jake  affably.  "That  ^s  a 
good  way  to  get  acquainted." 

"Thanks.  Yes,  it  would  be,"  agreed  Ludlowe  in  bland, 
non-committal  tones. 


THE  "CAMP-GIRL"  129 

Not  seeing-  how  to  prolong  the  interview  to  further 
advantage,  and  feeling  that  all  had  been  done  that  could 
be  justly  required  of  his  courtesy,  Jake  turned  to  go. 
And  Gret,  having  overcome  her  mirth,  and  now  feeling 
somewhat  disgusted  with  herself,  bethought  herself  of 
the  mission  to  Dick  and  turned  away  also. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Gret?"  inquired  Jake. 

"Up  to  the  grounds  to  see  Dick  for  the  mill,"  re- 
sponded Gret. 

Ludlowe  rose  from  the  log  and  threw  away  his  cigar. 
"I  should  like  to  accompany  you,  if  I  may." 

"Sure,"  assented  Gret  readily. 

She  walked  back  to  the  skid-road  and  sprang  up  on  it, 
followed  closely  by  Ludlowe.  As  she  began  to  walk 
rapidly  along  the  road,  however,  she  was  not  followed 
quite  so  closely.  The  great  logs  that  formed  the  sleepers 
of  the  road  were  connected  by  stringers  of  smaller  timber, 
and  along  these  Gret  walked  with  the  ease  of  long  prac- 
tice and  the  skill  of  a  tight-rope  walker.  Ludlowe 
essayed  to  do  likewise,  seeing  that  it  looked  so  easy,  and 
only  saved  himself  from  an  ignominious  fall  down  be- 
tween the  sleepers  by  a  long  spring  on  to  one  of  them. 
After  that  he  varied  his  progress  by  more  or  less  balanc- 
ing and  by  a  series  of  springs,  keeping  fairly  well  up  with 
Gret,  but  finding  that  he  was  taking  all  the  exercise  he 
cared  for.  However,  it  was  better  than  scrambling 
through  the  brush  on  either  side  the  road.  But  he  saw  at 
once  the  secret  of  Gret's  lithe,  erect  poise. 

Gret  went  on  up  the  road,  unconcerned  and  apparently 
unobservant  of  the  trials  of  her  companion.  She  was  by 
no  means  as  oblivious  as  she  seemed,  however. 

When  they  left  the  skid-road  and  began  to  climb  the 
si.de  of  the  mountain,  Ludlowe  attempted  to  open  up  a 
conversation.  Evidently  this  girl  did  not  intend  to.  She 
was  the  most  laconic  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  woman  that 


130  GRET 

Ludlowe  ever  remembered  to  have  met,  although  she  did 
not  appear  at  all  shy. 

"Who  was  the  man  that  came  up  with  you?"  he  in- 
quired amiably, 

"That  was  Jake,  the  cook,"  explained  Gret.  And  then 
reflecting  that  possibly  her  companion  was  considering 
the  validity  of  the  invitation  extended  to  him  by  that 
worthy,  she  turned  her  head  coolly  over  her  shoulder. 
Ludlowe  was  following  close  behind  her  in  the  narrow 
path  by  the  side  of  the  shute.  "It  's  all  right  if  he  tells 
you  to  come  to  lunch  or  anything  like  that." 

"Yes?"  said  Ludlowe  in  a  tone  of  gentle  interest,  at 
the  same  time  indulging  in  a  quiet  laugh  behind  his  com- 
panion's back.  He  probably  flattered  himself  that  the  tone 
was  non-committal  and  ordinary,  but  Gret  was  keen  to 
detect  the  over-smoothness  and  to  suspect  fun,  and  turn- 
ing her  head  sharply  encountered  the  laugh. 

"Awfully  funny  country,  is  n't  it?"  she  observed  with 
a  laugh  of  soft  mockery.  "Don't  do  things  like  that  in 
San  Francisco,  do  they  ?" 

"Like  what?"  demanded  Ludlowe,  amused  and  in- 
terested. 

But  Gret  only  laughed  slightly  again,  just  a  chuckle  of 
fun  and  mockery  as  lively  as  his  own ;  and  Ludlowe  felt 
that  for  once  he  was  met  on  his  own  ground. 

When  they  reached  the  felling  grounds,  Gret  could  see 
that  Ludlowe  was  pleased  and  interested.  She  called  up 
Dick  and,  after  giving  Ritchie's  message,  indicated  the 
man  by  her  side. 

"This  gentleman  's  one  of  Bobbie's  friends  from  the 
mill-house.    You  show  him  round,  Dick." 

And  with  that  Gret  formally  handed  Ludlowe  out  of 
her  keeping.  After  a  few  words  to  this  man  and  that, 
she  departed,  much  to  Ludlowe's  amusement,  vanishing 
down  the  other  side  of  the  mountain. 


THE  "CAMP-GIRU'  131 

She  wanted  to  get  back  to  the  mill  and  see  the  re- 
mainder of  the  new  specimens.  Ludlowe  was  going  to  be 
very  interesting;  she  could  see  that.  At  the  same  time 
she  wanted  to  see  the  other  man  and  the  young  woman, 
especially  the  young  woman.  A  fashionable  woman,  a 
real  swell  from  a  big  city,  was  a  creature  she  had  never 
seen  or  imagined. 

She  reached  the  mill  at  a  lucky  moment.  Bobbie  and 
Bertie  were  escorting  round  the  three  new  arrivals,  ex- 
plaining to  them  the  different  processes.  Oly  was  also 
standing  within  the  building,  being  on  his  way  down  to 
Quellish  and  having  been  bidden  stop  in  at  the  mill  for 
probable  orders  for  the  Transfer.  By  the  elaborate 
gravity  of  his  countenance  Gret  knew  that  something 
highly  edifying  must  be  transpiring. 

The  group  was  in  contemplation  of  Ritchie's  saw,  and 
that  worthy  looked  studiously  over  their  heads  across  at 
Gret. 

"All  right.  They  '11  be  down  some  time  this  afternoon," 
she  called  to  him,  with  a  smile  of  bewildering  brilliancy 
by  way  of  expressing  her  approval  of  his  policy  of  ignor- 
ing supercilious  and  entirely  superficial  interest. 

Gret  would  have  passed  on  up  the  mill  herself,  for  she 
did  not  like  the  elder  woman's  expression,  but  Bobbie 
would  not  have  that.  He  came  quickly  up  to  her,  and  tak- 
ing her  affectionately  by  the  hand,  drew  her  to  meet  his 
mother. 

"Mother,  this  is  Miss  Margaret  Silway.  Gret,  this  is 
my  mother." 

Mrs.  Baring  signified  her  pleasure  at  the  introduction 
by  a  bow  of  most  punctilious  proportions ;  while  Gret, 
having  in  mind  the  formula  usually  heard  in  those  parts 
on  the  consummation  of  an  introduction,  "Pleased  to 
meet  you,"  and  disdaining  to  utter  it,  compromised  mat- 
ters by  saying  nothing  and  looking  on  with  a  smile  that 


132  GRET 

might  mean  anything.  Then  Bobbie  introduced  Miss 
Vibart,  whose  bow  was  less  elaborate,  in  better  taste  and 
more  cordial.'  Again  Gret  smiled,  but  her  eyes  took  in  all 
particulars  of  the  simple  but  faultless  gown,  the  intrica- 
cies of  a  fashionable  coiffure,  the  details  of  the  pretty 
fancy  linen  collar  and  cuffs,  tiny  diamond  brooch,  dainty 
slippers  and  still  daintier  petticoats.  And  she  noted  the 
general  air  of  well-groomed  elegance,  and  knew  in  a 
moment  just  where  she  herself  would  stand  among  civil- 
ized women.  These  reflections  took  but  a  second  of  time, 
and  then  Bobbie  was  introducing  Arthur  Massinger. 
Arthur  dispensed  with  the  bowing  ceremony,  and  put  out 
his  hand  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"We  Ve  heard  so  much  of  you  already,  Miss  Silway," 
he  observed,  with  a  glance  at  Bobbie,  "that  an  introduc- 
tion seems  a  mere  formality." 

Gret  smiled,  too,  and  held  out  her  hand  at  once,  and 
Arthur  was  surprised  at  the  grip  of  those  very  brown, 
thin  fingers, 

Bobbie  was  pleased  at  this  exhibition  of  cordiality  on 
Arthur's  part.  He  hoped  his  mother  would  also  say 
something  pleasant  before  the  interview  ended,  but  she 
did  not.  Instead,  she  started  to  walk  forward  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  discharged  an  unpleasant  duty  and  is 
glad  of  it.  Bobbie  was  on  thorns.  He  remarked  Oly's 
presence,  and  knew  that  every  stiff  and  unprepossessing 
detail  of  the  whole  affair  would  be  rehearsed  with  dis- 
astrous faithfulness  for  the  benefit  of  the  assembled  camp 
at  dinner  that  night,  and  he  knew  what  it  meant  to  snub 
Gret.  For  once,  too,  he  was  disgusted  with  his  mother's 
supercilious  ways.  Formerly  she,  like  the  king  of  old, 
could  do  no  wrong,  especially  in  matters  of  etiquette  and 
correct  procedure.  Now  it  dawned  on  him  that  these 
things  were  a  long  way  from  being  the  sum  total  of  life ; 
and  that  one  might  be  past  mistress  of  etiquette  and  still 


THE  "CAMP-GIRL"  133 

act  in  a  very  under-bred  way.  Bobbie  felt  that  more 
real  kindliness  and  courtesy  had  been  extended  to  him  by 
these  rough  people  in  the  time  of  his  perplexity  and 
trouble  than  he  would  meet  with  among  his  own  people 
if  he  lived  to  be  a  hundred. 

After  his  mother  had  left  the  building,  Bobbie  turned 
back,  and  in  his  well-intentioned  but  bungling  way  tried 
to  apologize  for  his  mother  without  appearing  to  do  so. 

"I  hope  you  '11  get  to  know  my  folks  well,  Gret." 

"Do  you?"  said  Gret  good-humoredly  enough.  She 
liked  Bobbie,  and  he  was  not  to  be  blamed  if  he  had  a 
peculiar  kind  of  a  mother. 

"Of  course,  you  know,  mother  (Joes  not  understand  the 
ways  of  this  part  of  the  country  yet,"  went  on  Bobbie 
gently. 

"She  '11  learn,"  observed  Gret  grimly ;  and  then,  totally 
uninterested  in  the  present  subject,  "Oly  's  going  down 
to  the  Harbor,  and  he  's  going  to  tell  the  Transfer  about 
the  twenty  bundles  for  Litherland." 

"That  's  a  good  idea,"  agreed  Bobbie,  a  trifle  ab- 
sently. "If  they  take  on  much  freight  besides,  I  should 
n't  think  they  could  carry  them."  He  turned  away 
slowly.  "Well,  I  must  go  and  have  my  breakfast.  Have 
you  had  yours,  Gret?" 

"Twice,"  replied  Gret  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

When  Gret  predicted  that  Mrs.  Baring  would  speedily 
learn  the  ways  of  the  locality,  she  had  not  really  any  in- 
tention of  helping  to  teach  the  lesson.  But  that  evening 
she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bluflf  in  front  of  their  house 
with  Eva  a  little  while  before  going  to  bed.  She  told  that 
soft-eyed  maiden  of  the  new  arrivals  from  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  all  about  the  mysterious  differences  that  ap- 
peared between  them  and  the  people  among  whom  they 
dwelt,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  Eva,  out  of  her  stock 
of   romances,   could   at  once   comprehend   and  classify 


134  GRET 

them.  And  then  as  she  described  for  Eva's  benefit  the 
haughty  and  supercilious  mannerisms  of  Bobbie's  mother, 
it  occurred  to  her  to  wonder  how  Anna,  the  previous 
autocrat  of  the  mill  household,  got  along  with  them. 
Immediately  following  came  a  desire  to  find  out,  and  not 
deeming  it  advisable  to  interview  Anna  herself  on  the 
subject,  Gret  went  in  search  of  the  enterprising  Lizzie. 

To  Lizzie  Gret  gave  a  faithful  representation  of  Mrs. 
Baring's  peculiarities,  and  charged  her  with  the  task  of 
visiting  Anna  upon  the  first  favorable  opportunity  and 
testing  the  state  of  that  lady's  feelings.  Lizzie  was 
greatly  interested,  very  curious  and  altogether  delighted 
with  the  mission :  and  she  made  it  her  business  to  visit  the 
mill-house  the  very  next  evening.  Anna  needed  very 
little  encouragement  to  pour  forth  the  tale  of  her  indigni- 
ties and  the  slights  to  which  she  was  daily  subjected,  and 
Lizzie  bestowed  unlimited  sympathy.  Indeed,  so  very 
sympathetic  was  she,  and  so  horrified  at  such  treatment 
of  a  hard-working  and  honest  subject  of  a  free  country, 
that  Anna's  smouldering  wrath  was  fed  into  a  fierce 
flame.  She  was  paid  by  the  month,  and  only  a  few  days' 
pay  was,  as  it  happened,  due  to  her,  and  this  small  sum 
she  decided  to  forfeit  in  the  interest  of  a  most  dramatic 
and  masterly  coup.  She  hastily  packed  her  grip  and  de- 
parted through  the  brush  with  the  secretly  edified  Lizzie, 
remarking  that  it  remained  to  be  seen  what  kind  of  airs 
the  obnoxious  Mrs.  Baring  would  indulge  in  when  she 
cooked  her  own  breakfast— or  went  without. 


CHAPTER  X 

NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD 

THE  four  new-comers  at  the  mill-house  were  entirely 
different  from  anything  Gret  had  ever  come  in  con- 
tact with;  yet,  singular  to  say,  she  made  very  little  mis- 
take in  adding  them  up  and  setting  them  down  for  very 
near  their  respective  worth  as  individuals  and  as  acquisi- 
tions to  her  life-circle.  Mrs.  Baring  she  mentally  dis- 
posed of  as  a  person  of  slight  or  no  individual  value, 
possessing  a  set  of  ideas  not  seemingly  likely  to  accord 
with  any  one  or  anything ;  Maude,  she  decided,  had  plenty 
of  common-sense  and  a  certain  reserve  power,  but  very 
little  personal  charm  or  value.  In  her  own  mind  Gret 
doubted  whether  either  of  the  women  could  teach  her 
anything  she  would  care  to  learn ;  she  certainly  could  not 
see  anything  that  she  cared  to  emulate  in  either,  save,  of 
course,  the  style  and  neatness  of  Maude's  appearance; 
and  as  that  was  entirely  out  of  the  question,  she  never 
bothered  about  it.  No,  it  was  on  the  two  men  that  Gret 
pinned  her  faith.  Both,  she  saw,  were  well  educated,  and 
very  refined.  Beyond  that  she  could  hardly  add  them  up 
with  any  degree  of  certainty.  Massinger  had  something 
about  him  that  she  could  not  understand,  and  Ludlowe 
betrayed  a  subtle  perfection  of  experience  and  wisdom 
that  she  could  not  begin  to  fathom ;  only  that  in  judging 
the  two  men  she  felt  that  in  Arthur  Massinger's  gentle, 
kindly  temperament  there  could  be  no  place  for  a  keen, 
analytical  mind  such  as  Errol  Ludlowe  was  possessed  of. 

135 


136  GRET 

She  watched  eagerly  for  an  opportunity  to  get  either  of 
the  men  to  herself  and,  not  talk,  but  listen. 

Arthur  Massinger,  as  it  happened,  was  the  first  to  dis- 
close himself  and  the  hidden  treasures  of  his  mind.  He 
was  an  ardent  lover  of  nature,  and  notwithstanding  his 
weak  health  roamed  and  climbed  about  untiringly.  This, 
of  course,  was  just  such  an  opening  as  Gret  needed.  In 
the  first  place  he  recognized  an  invaluable  guide,  and  she 
an  invaluable  opportunity.  One  afternoon  started  the 
friendship,  which  thereafter  throve  exceedingly.  Gret 
was  rowing  up  the  river,  and  noticed  Massinger  standing 
hesitatingly  on  one  of  the  landings. 

"Want  to  get  across  ?"  she  called. 

"No-o.  I  was  just  wondering  where  I  could  get  a 
boat,"  explained  Massinger.  "I  feel  strongly  inclined  for 
a  pull  on  the  river." 

"All  right,"  said  Gret,  rowing  toward  him  at  once. 
''Jump  in.    You  can  have  the  oars." 

Arthur  obeyed.  "Am  I  not  keeping  you  from  some 
errand  ?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"No— oh,  no!"  laughed  Gret.  "I  was  n't  going  any- 
where in  particular.  I  'm  always  going  somewhere; 
that  's  all." 

She  handed  up  the  oars,  and  then  sat  with  her  head  in 
her  hands  and  watched  while  the  young  man  sculled. 
She  noted  the  beauty  and  finish  of  his  style,  the  dainty 
feathering  and  the  rhythm ;  but  she  knew  at  the  same  time 
that  she  could  go  five  miles  to  his  one.  She  waited  until 
his  breath  began  to  shorten  and  a  slight  flush  to  appear 
on  the  worn,  ascetic  face,  and  then  she  coolly  put  out  her 
hand. 

"Stop  now.    I  'm  going  to  row." 

"Just  a  little  way,  then,"  allowed  Arthur,  yielding  up 
his  place. 

Gret  sat  a  moment,  her  hands  on  the  oars,  and  looked 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     137 

attentively  at  the  sky.  'It  's  only  about  two  o'clock,  and 
it  's  going  to  be  fine  all  day,"  she  said.  ''How  would  you 
like  me  to  take  you  up  to  the  Forks  ?" 

"What  is  it— the  Forks  ?"  inquired  Massinger. 

"Where  the  river  divides  into  two,"  explained  Gret. 
"It  's  fine— all  between  great  tall  bluffs.  Don't  suppose 
you  ever  saw  anything  like  it." 

"I  should  like  to  go  immensely,"  said  Arthur.  "Is  it 
far?" 

"Oh,  no ;  I  go  up  often,"  responded  Gret,  who  did  not 
honestly  think  anything  of  a  five-mile  row. 

They  rowed  on,  and  Massinger  watched  with  delight 
the  increasing  beauties  of  the  river,  a  fact  which  sent 
him  up  considerably  in  Gret's  estimation.  Presently 
he  demanded  to  row  again,  but  Gret  would  not  hear 
of  it. 

"No;  it  tires  you,  and  it  does  n't  me.  You  've  had 
enough  rowing  for  to-day." 

"But,  my  dear  girl!"  remonstrated  Arthur,  surprised 
and  amused  at  the  abrupt  way  she  settled  things.  "Do 
you  suppose  I  'm  going  to  let  you  pull  me  for  a  mile  or 
so  up-stream  ?    You  'd  be  worn  out." 

Gret  laughed  outright.  "Why,  I  could  row  all  day! 
You  watch,  now.  If  you  see  me  looking  tired,  even  the 
least  little  bit,  you  can  have  the  oars." 

And  Arthur  did  watch,  but  not  the  faintest  sign  of 
weariness  could  he  detect,  neither  the  slightest  increase 
of  breath  or  color,  nor  the  slightest  break  in  the  even, 
monotonous  stroke  that  was  neither  slow  nor  quick. 

At  last  the  Forks  was  reached,  Massinger  being  greatly 
overcome  at  the  distance  and  the  imposition  he  considered 
it  to  be  on  Gret.  And  the  amount  of  breathless,  reverent 
admiration  he  bestowed  on  the  scene  satisfied  even  that 
exacting  young  lady,  who  stood  to  it  in  the  light  of  pro- 
prietor.    The  island,  with  its  crown  of  giant  pines,  that 


138  GRET 

Stood  at  the  divide  of  the  river,  the  great  somber  bluffs 
down  which  the  sunHght  slanted,  and  the  vistas  of  dim, 
receding  forests,  all  seemed  to  Massinger  too  beautiful 
for  words. 

"Let  us  land  on  the  island  for  a  few  minutes,  shall 
we?"  he  asked  of  Gret.  And  she  complied  by  turning  her 
boat  immediately  into  the  bank. 

Sitting  on  one  of  the  innumerable  fallen  trees  near  the 
water's  edge,  Arthur  gave  himself  up  to  rapt  contempla- 
tion of  the  beauty  spread  about  him.  Gret  sat  near,  and 
covertly  studied  her  companion.  His  admiration  she 
could  understand ;  the  spectacle  was  grand  and  imposing, 
and  he  was  viewing  it  for  the  first  time.  But  there  was 
an  element  in  his  admiration  that  she.  did  not  understand, 
and  that— though,  of  course,  she  did  not  know  it— was  the 
reverence  with  which  it  was  so  deeply  tinged.  Arthur 
viewed  nature  as  the  loving  work  of  a  beneficent  Creator, 
who  adorned  a  house  for  him  and  his  fellows;  while  to 
Gret  nature  and  life  and  being  were  all  so  indissolubly 
mixed  and  related  that  she  merely  viewed  and  loved  that 
of  which  she  was  a  part.  Of  course,  she  never  had  know- 
ingly thought  the  matter  over  at  all;  but  the  gracious 
sunshine  and  the  blue  skies  that  these  forests  and  these 
growing  things  gloried  in,  she  gloried  in,  too;  and  the 
radiance  and  delight  that  shone  on  the  earth  each  morning 
burned  in  her,  too,  every  morning  that  she  arose.  She 
could  not  understand  feeling  separate  from  it  all,  and  it 
was  just  this  reverent  aloofness  in  Arthur's  attitude  that 
puzzled  her. 

By  and  by,  having  filled  his  soul,  for  the  time  being, 
with  the  beauty  of  it  all,  Arthur  turned  his  attention  to 
his  companion.  He  felt  drawn  toward  her,  and  was 
ready  to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  peculiar  young  life 
that  carved  its  own  way  with  such  a  bold,  free  hand.  He 
questioned  her  in  many  ways  as  to  her  life  and  amuse- 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD      139 

ments,  and  Gret  answered  with  a  frank,  unconcerned 
candor  that  made  questioning  easy.  And  then,  ever  feel- 
ing in  others  for  what  in  his  own  Hfe  was  the  greatest  joy 
and  comfort  possessed,  Massinger  sought  by  tactful  ways 
to  discover  how  great  a  share  religion  played  in  Gret's 
life.  He  naturally  failed  in  the  quest,  seeing  that  there 
was  nothing  to  discover.  Then  he  went  about  the  search 
in  another  way.  He  inquired  into  the  lives,  generally,  of 
the  community,  and  asked  among  other  things  how  many 
denominations  existed  in  that  locality.  Gret  was  entirely 
at  a  loss,  and  hastened  to  confess  unqualified  ignorance. 
Pursuing  the  matter,  Arthur  was  concerned  to  find  that 
Gret  had  never  been  inside  a  church  in  her  life,  and  did 
not  remember  ever  to  have  looked  into  a  Bible.  She  knew 
there  was  such  a  book,  and  observed  that  there  were  one 
or  two  churches  down  in  Quellish.  She  had  an  idea,  how- 
ever, that  those  were  institutions  principally  for  the 
Swedes.  Arthur  saw  plainly  that  she  knew  very  little  of 
the  subject  and  troubled  less.  He  was  surprised.  It  had 
always  been  a  pet  theory  of  his  that  in  the  peace  and  quiet 
of  the  country  religion  invariably  found  a  home;  in  his 
own  mind  he  had  invested  it  with  a  simple  and  crude,  it 
is  true,  but  yet  a  very  real  piety.  Of  course,  Gret  might 
be  but  a  single  instance,  but  he  doubted  it.  She  was 
among  the  people  too  much  to  fail  to  absorb  whatever 
was  prevalent.  Arthur  had  in  mind  the  rural  farming 
districts  of  the  eastern  states,  and  failed  to  allow  for  the 
vast  difference  between  that  and  a  western  logging  dis- 
trict. 

Then  in  his  gentle,  kindly  way  Arthur  questioned  Gret 
as  to  her  home  and  parents ;  and,  accustomed  as  he  was  to 
hearing  accounts  of  human  lives,  was  not  long  in  reach- 
ing a  conclusion  that,  though  erroneous  in  some  respects, 
was  near  enough  right  for  purposes  of  analysis. 

Gret  was  conscious,  as  they  rowed  home,  of  a  feeling 


I40  GRET 

of  having  been  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  want- 
ing. She  could  not  exactly  tell  where  the  mental  defi- 
ciency came  in,  but  discerned  enough  to  feel  sure  it  would 
never  be  made  good  by  any  effort  of  hers.  She  had  seen 
enough  of  Arthur,  however,  to  want  to  see  more ;  and  so 
she  proceeded  to  lay  bait.  She  described  Spirit  Lake,  the 
lake  of  the  marvelous  shadow,  and  related  the  Indian 
legend  concerning  it.  Massinger  was  immediately  inter- 
ested, and  wondered  if  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to 
find  it  on  her  description  of  the  trail ;  whereupon  he  was 
informed  that  such  an  effort  was  not  necessary,  as  she, 
Gret,  stood  ready  to  escort  him  thither  any  day  he  liked. 
Massinger  was  delighted. 

"Will  it  take  us  a  whole  day,  do  you  think?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Well,  it  does  n't  me,"  said  Gret  thoughtfully. 

"But  you  think  it  might  take  me  that  long,"  smiled 
Arthur.  "I  think  in  all  probability  it  would.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  'm  at  all  likely  to  climb  as  you  could.  Well,  would 
we  take  provisions  with  us  ?" 

"Oh,  no.    I  '11  fix  that,"  answered  Gret  laconically. 

"Oh !  Well,  then,  all  that  is  necessary  is  just  to  let  you 
know  over  night." 

"Need  n't  do  that,"  replied  Gret.  "Just  come  and  find 
me  any  morning  you  feel  like  going,  and  we  '11  start  right 
away.  You  can  almost  always  find  me  in  the  camp  in  the 
mornings." 

With  this  agreement  they  parted,  Gret  having  taken 
her  companion  as  near  to  the  mill  as  a  landing  would 
allow.  . 

It  was  two  or  three  days  before  Massinger  started  on 
the  proposed  expedition.  He  did  not  care,  unless  every- 
thing were  propitious,  to  absent  himself  from  his  fellows 
a  whole  day.  However,  one  bright  morning,  when  Maude 
and  Mrs.  Baring  were  struggling  in  mutual  disgust  with 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     141 

the  intricacies  of  cooking  and  a  new  girl,  and  when  Bob- 
bie and  Bertie  were  going  down  to  QuelHsh  to  discuss 
with  the  mill-owners  there  the  idea  of  a  shingle  combine, 
he  decided  that  the  absence  for  the  day  of  himself  and 
Ludlowe,  who  had  requested  permission  to  join  in  the  un- 
dertaking, would  be  more  of  a  blessing  than  a  deprivation. 
So  the  two  men  donned  old  and  easy  shoes,  and  repaired 
to  the  camp  to  find  Gret.  She  was  not  to  be  seen,  and 
they  went  to  the  door  of  the  cook-house  for  information. 
Jake  was  busy  cutting  meat,  but  he  hastened  to  wash  his 
hands  and  seat  his  visitors,  at  the  same  time  cordially  in- 
viting them  to  partake  of  pie  and  coffee. 

"Gret  's  gone  up  on  the  grounds,"  he  explained;  "but 
the  logs  will  be  coming  down  in  a  few  minutes,  I  guess, 
and  she  '11  be  on  them  sure." 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  shrill  whistle  of  the 
donkey  sounded,  the  cable  started,  and  presently,  wob- 
bling and  wriggling  down  the  skid-road  came  the  train 
of  logs.  On  the  most  uneven  monster  of  the  lot,  balanc- 
ing for  dear  life  and  laughing  aloud  in  her  heart's  glee, 
was  Gret.  Jake  poked  his  head  out  of  the  door  and 
shouted  to  her ;  and  she,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  breaking 
'her  neck,  as  it  seemed  to  the  two  men,  turned  her  head 
and  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"She  saw  you,"  said  Jake  contentedly.  "She  can't  get 
oflf  till  they  reach  the  slough  and  the  engine  stops,  but 
she  '11  be  right  back  then." 

And  she  was.  In  about  two  minutes  after  the  engine 
stopped  she  came  skimming  up  the  skid-road,  jumped  off, 
and  reached  the  cook-house  like  a  whirlwind. 

"We  thought  it  would  be  a  lovely  day  to  go  up  to  that 
lake,"  said  Arthur,  after  cordially  greeting  her. 

"It  would— fine,"  agreed  Gret  in  her  business-like  way, 
but  with  a  pleasant  smile,  "We  'd  better  have  some  lunch 
before  we  start,  then." 


142  GRET 

"Yes,  you  bet  you  had,"  agreed  Jake,  having  immediate 
understanding  of  the  lake  in  question. 

"Oh,  but  really,  we  only  had  breakfast  an  hour  ago," 
protested  Massinger.  Ludlowe  looked  on  in  unconcerned 
amusement. 

"Yes  ?  Still,  it 's  a  long  climb,  and  it  '11  be  quite  a  while 
before  we  get  anything  else  to  eat,"  said  Gret.  "We  'd 
better  eat.  Jake,  don't  you  want  to  make  us  some  coffee  ?" 

Jake  did,  bustling  about  in  a  most  hospitable  way. 
Presently  there  was  set  before  the  guests  cold  beef, 
cheese,  pie,  and  steaming  coffee ;  and  certainly,  after  the 
reign  of  experimental  cooking  endured  at  home,  these 
comparatively  simple  viands  proved  very  tempting.  Gret 
attended  to  herself,  leaving  Jake  free  to  discharge  thor- 
oughly the  duties  of  host.  She  went  to  a  cupboard,  the 
top  shelf  of  which  by  dint  of  long  fighting  and  long  cus- 
tom was  sacred  to  herself —anything  placed  upon  it  being 
as  good  as  in  sanctuary,  even  if  stolen  in  the  first  place 
from  the  very  kitchen  in  which  it  stood— and  took  from  it 
half  a  pie.  This,  together  with  a  big  mug  of  coffee,  she 
placed  before  her  upon  the  table,  and  then  sat  down  and 
disposed  of  it  with  marvelous,  yet  silent  celerity.  Then  in 
the  same  matter-of-fact  way  she  took  a  pail,  went  to  the 
spring  and  filled  it,  laved  her  hands  and  face,  emptied  the 
pail  and  brought  it  back  to  the  kitchen,  examined  her 
broad-brimmed  and  untrimmed  hat,  placed  it  on  her  head 
best  end  foremost,  and  then  sat  down  to  await  the  readi- 
ness of  her  charges.  And  then  for  the  first  time  she  no- 
ticed the  amusement  in  Ludlowe's  eyes.  She  laughed, 
not  altogether  understanding  the  cause  of  his  evident 
mirth,  but  unoffended  in  any  case. 

Added  to  what  she  had  observed  herself,  Gret  gathered 
from  different  remarks  of  Ludlowe's  that  Arthur  Massin- 
ger's  health  was  in  a  weak  and  failing  state,  and  she  eased 
off  as  far  as  possible  the  rigors  of  the  climb  to  the  lake. 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     143 

Naturally  tender-hearted  to  anything  weaker  than  herself, 
she  unconsciously  showed  the  tired  and  worn  young  min- 
ister a  deal  of  gentle  consideration — a  fact  which  was  no- 
ticed without  comment  by  both  men.  Altogether  she  was 
a  very  attentive  and  conscientious  guide,  going  on  first 
herself  to  see  that  all  was  well,  and  able  to  tell  her  com- 
panions the  local  if  not  the  scientific  name  of  every  bird, 
beast  and  plant  to  be  met  with.  Beyond  the  giving  of  lib- 
eral information  on  every  subject  asked,  however,  Gret 
said  but  little ;  and  the  two  men,  taking  her  to  be  naturally 
taciturn,  chatted  more  particularly  to  one  another,  re- 
joicing in  the  unrestricted  opportunity  for  conversation. 
Afterward  they  realized  that  every  word  they  said  had 
been  both  heard  and  considered,  in  face  of  which  instruc- 
tive occupation  Gret  had  considered  talking  herself  mere 
waste  of  time. 

Before  the  lake  was  reached,  Massinger  was  plainly 
very  tired,  but  when  at  last  he  looked  on  the  shining  face 
of  that  great  mirror  of  nature  he  forgot  his  weariness. 
And  Ludlowe,  too,  less  openly  enthusiastic  and  more  lazy 
in  his  enjoyment,  yet  still  in  his  peculiar  way  a  lover  of 
nature  and  solitude,  sat  on  one  of  the  blue-gray  rocks  that 
bordered  those  singularly  lucid  waters  and  gazed  about 
him  with  appreciative  eyes.  Gret  sat  close  by,  awaiting 
with  patience  what  remarks  might  presently  be  forthcom- 
ing. 

"Not  a  tree  anywhere  on  its  edge,  you  see,  to  ward  off 
the  reflection  of  those  snow-peaks,"  mused  Massinger 
presently.  "I  imagine  this  lake  fills  some  volcanic  crater. 
What  do  you  think,  Errol  ?" 

'*Yes,  the  surroundings  do  appear  volcanic,'^  agreed 
Ludlowe,  his  eyes  resting  in  sleepy  contemplation  on  the 
beauty  before  him.  "I  've  not  seen  anything  to  equal  this 
in  the  Swiss  lakes." 

Massinger  shook  his  head,  and  returned  to  his  reverent 


144  GRET 

survey  of  the  lake.  But  Ludlowe  presently  transferred 
his  attention  for  a  few  moments  to  Gret. 

"Tired?" 

Gret  shook  her  head  with  a  laugh.    ''No  I" 

"Been  up  here  many  a  time,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  hundreds  of  times." 

Ludlowe  looked  at  the  girl  attentively.  She  was  in  re- 
pose mentally  and  physically,  in  a  crouching  attitude  on 
the  top  of  a  boulder,  her  face  turned  toward  the  lake. 

"What  is  your  name  an  abbreviation  of  ?"  he  inquired. 
"Gret— Margaret?" 

"Yes ;  that 's  one  of  my  names,"  responded  Gret.  "But 
when  I  was  young  I  used  to  call  myself  Gret,  and  the 
name  has  always  stuck  to  me." 

Ludlowe  laughed.  "When  you  were  young?  Well, 
what  are  you  now,  pray  ?" 

"Eighteen,"  said  Gret  calmly. 

"Oh,  are  you  that  much  ?" 

"Yes,"  slightly  surprised.  "Did  n't  you  think  I  was, 
then?" 

"I  could  n't  tell  exactly.  You  're  one  of  those  persons 
whose  age  cannot  be  told  to  five  years,"  explained  Lud- 
lowe.   "And  then  your  age  and  manners  do  not  coincide." 

Gret  pondered  the  probable  effect  of  an  arrangement 
like  this,  and  Ludlowe  gazed  about  him  again  for  a  while. 
After  a  time  he  turned  to  Massinger. 

"It  is  a  barbarous  confession  in  the  face  of  so  much 
soul-satisfying  beauty,  Arthur ;  but  the  fact  remains  that 
the  base  and  earthly  inner  man  of  me  is  crying  out  loudly 
for  sustenance." 

"So  is  mine,"  confessed  Arthur  smiling.  "This  moun- 
tain air  is  so  bracing.  Miss  Silway,  we  are  hungry  and 
athirst." 

Gret  jumped  up  on  her  boulder,  and  stretched  herself 
into  readiness  for  action.     "All  right.     I   '11  take  you 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     145 

straight  down  to  Murray's.  But  don't  call  me  Miss  Sil- 
way.  Call  me  Gret.  We  don't  have  Miss  This  and  Mr. 
That  about  here." 

"Does  no  one  get  called  by  his  surname?"  inquired 
Ludlowe,  rising  and  flicking  odd  particles  off  himself. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  never  heard  any  one  call  my  mother  any- 
thing but  Mrs.  Silway,"  replied  Gret. 

"I  see;  and  so  until  you  attain  to  the  dignity  of  mar- 
riage you  '11  be  called  Gret  ?" 

Gret  nodded  and  laughed,  a  laugh  that  the  slight  humor 
of  Ludlowe's  observation  did  not  altogether  account  for. 

Then  she  led  the  two  men  by  a  very  precipitous,  but 
very  direct,  route  down  to  Murray's  placer  mining-camp, 
conducting  them  straight  into  the  kitchen,  where  Mrs. 
Miner  was  in  the  midst  of  preparations  for  dinner. 

"These  two  gentlemen  are  from  the  new  mill  down  by 
us,"  she  explained  to  that  open-eyed  individual.  "Friends 
of  the  bosses.  They  came  up  from  San  Francisco  a  few 
weeks  ago.  I  've  been  taking  them  up  to  see  Spirit  Lake. 
Can  they  have  something  to  eat,  Mrs.  Miner  ?" 

"Sure!"  responded  Mrs.  Miner  emphatically,  hastily 
donning  a  clean  apron  and  bustling  about  to  find  chairs. 

The  two  men  sat  down  with  a  distinct  feeling  of  relief, 
while  Gret  helped  Mrs.  Miner  prepare  a  small  table  in  the 
corner  of  the  kitchen.  Upon  this  she  presently  placed  a 
bountiful  dish  of  ham  and  eggs,  fried  potatoes,  coffee  and 
the  inevitable  pie.  Then  while  the  three  ate  she  stood 
about  chatting,  inquiring  as  to  the  strangers'  impressions 
of  the  Northwest,  the  proposed  length  of  their  stay,  the 
amount  of  kinship,  if  any,  existing  between  them  and  the 
mill-bosses,  the  actual  size  and  glory  of  San  Francisco  as 
compared  with  rumors,  and  other  questions  of  like  note. 
Finally  Gret,  having  already  established  a  sort  of  pro- 
tectorate over  Arthur,  and  noticing  that  he,  out  of  the 
depths  of  his  courtesy,  was  doing  all  the  answering  and 

10 


146  GRET 

none  of  the  eating,  came  to  the  rescue.  She  turned  a 
critically  elevated  nose  in  the  direction  of  the  stove  on  the 
other  side  of  the  kitchen. 

"What's  burning?" 

Mrs.  Miner  fled  at  once,  and  during  her  anxious  in- 
vestigation Arthur  was  able  to  proceed  with  his  meal  in 
peace.  He  did  not  notice  the  true  significance  of  the 
move  on  Gret's  part,  but  Ludlowe  did,  and  smiled.  And 
Gret,  looking  up  and  catching  the  smile,  felt  a  kinship  of 
understanding  established  there  and  then. 

On  the  way  down  home  Gret  talked  more  freely  her- 
self. The  men  were  discussing  the  marvelous  beauty  of 
the  lake  they  had  just  seen,  and  she  told  them  of  other 
natural  marvels  and  beauties,  known  in  many  instances, 
according  to  her  belief,  only  to  herself.  She  told  of  a 
lake  whose  waters  had  unaccountably  receded,  and  whose 
sloping  shores  of  baked  mud  and  shale  were,  during  the 
summer,  a  wriggling  mass  of  snakes;  she  described  a 
natural  and  almost  perfect  monolith  of  granite  that  stood 
in  one  of  the  higher  mountain  passes,  and  spoke  of  huge 
bluffs  that  formed  a  circle  whose  center  was  a  majestic 
amphitheater.  And  then  she  went  on  to  talk  of  her  own 
lakes,  the  shining  fruits  of  her  youthful  researches. 

"Your  'own'  lakes?"  queried  Ludlowe,  catching  at  the 
words. 

"Yep,"  Gret  nodded  contentedly.  "I  found  them,  and 
nobody  knows  where  they  are  but  me.  Oh,  perhaps 
some  of  the  Indians  do.  But  I  don't  think  so;  nothing 
gets  touched  that  I  leave  there.  One  of  them— the  best 
of  them  all— is  so  funny."  She  drew  an  elliptical  form 
on  the  palm  of  her  hand.  "It  is  shaped  just  like  an  egg, 
and  right  out  of  the  middle  rises  a  pointed  peak  of  rock, 
like  the  top  of  a  mountain  sticking  out  above  the  sea. 
And  it  's  ever  so  deep,  too.  One  day  I  took  up  one  of 
those  big  balls  of  twine— you  know,  about  a  hundred 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     147 

yards  in  them— and  tied  a  piece  of  rock  on  one  end  and 
dropped  it  over  the  side  of  the  canoe.  And  when  all  the 
string  had  run  out  I  had  n't  touched  bottom." 

"A  hundred  yards— three  hundred  feet!  Yes,  pretty 
deep  for  a  lake,"  observed  Ludlowe. 

"But  you  don't  know  how  much  deeper  it  was,"  said 
Gret  impressively.  ''It  's  a  very  funny  lake  to  look  at, 
too.  The  trees  dip  in  all  the  way  round,  so  that  it  looks 
like  a  hole  in  the  woods  filled  up  with  water.  Quite  the 
funniest  lake  I  ever  found." 

The  men  smiled.  "You  spoke  of  a  canoe,"  said  Lud- 
lowe.   "Did  you  put  one  on  this  remarkable  lake,  then  ?" 

Gret  nodded.  "Yes.  Skookum — he  's  gone  now — 
made  me  a  little  canoe.  One  of  those  tarred  canvas  ones, 
you  know.  It 's  up  there  now.  I  have  n't  been  up  to  look 
at  it  for  quite  a  while,  though.  I  expect  it  '11  want  an- 
other coat  of  tar  by  this."  She  laughed  softly.  "It  was 
so  funny.  I  took  the  canoe  up  and  put  it  on  my  lake, 
and  no  one  could  think  what  I  'd  done  with  it.  Robin— 
don't  know  him,  do  you?  But  you  will.  Robin  Start,  of 
that  Orchard  place  up  above  the  boom — well,  he  never 
got  over  it.  Wants  to  know  even  to-day  what  I  did  with 
the  canoe." 

"Well,  are  we  to  be  favored  with  a  glimpse  of  the 
Hidden  One— the  lake,  I  mean?"  asked  Ludlowe. 

Gret  looked  thoughtful.  "Oh,  yes— some  day  when 
we  're  up  near  there.  It  's  hard  work  to  reach  it;  the 
brush  is  so  thick." 

"How  on  earth  did  you  get  the  canoe  up  there,  then  ?" 
demanded  Ludlowe. 

"Carried  it,"  laconically.    "Took  me  three  days." 

"Did  n't  your  mother  wonder  what  had  become  of 
you  ?"  queried  Massinger. 

"Oh,  I  had  to  go  home  each  evening,  of  course.  That 
was  the  trouble,"  replied  Gret,  with  a  slight  frown  at  the 


148  GRET 

mere  recollection  of  her  struggles.  "I  had  to  take  it  as 
far  as  I  could,  and  then  hide  it.  Then  I  'd  go  up  the 
next  day  and  take  it  further.  I  got  it  up,  though,"  she 
concluded  triumphantly. 

"You  generally  do  manage  to  accomplish  what  you 
want,  don't  you  ?"  queried  Ludlowe  amusedly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Gret  with  an  air  of 
caution. 

"Well,  then,  perhaps  you  have  the  knack  of  only  want- 
ing what  you  believe  you  can  accomplish  ?"  pursued  Lud- 
lowe, merely  curious  to  probe  the  girl's  ability  to  grasp  a 
distinction. 

"Both,"  bluntly.  "I  'm  not  fool  enough  to  long  for  a 
star.  But  I  always  tell  myself  that  if  it  is  possible  for 
any  one  on  earth  to  do  a  thing — that  is,  if  they  were 
placed  like  me— it  is  for  me." 

Ludlowe  laughed  at  such  colossal  assurance,  and  Mas- 
singer  smiled. 

"Well,  there  is  no  doubt,"  observed  the  latter  in  his 
gentle,  thoughtful  way,  "that  much  more  is  possible  to  a 
confident  nature  than  to  one  who  makes  a  practice  of  sit- 
ting down  and  weighing  the  apparent  possibilities  of  a 
situation." 

"Most  decidedly,"  agreed  Ludlowe.  "Many  more 
things  are  possible,  even  in  every-day  life,  than  the 
bounds  of  possibilities  are  generally  credited  with  includ- 
ing. In  fact,  it  's  astonishing  how  few  things  are  really 
impossible." 

Gret  pondered  this  statement  a  little  as  they  descended 
into  the  camp,  and  considered  it  one  of  undeniable  wis- 
dom and  truth.  Arrived  in  the  camp,  she  invited  her 
companions  to  stay  for  supper. .  But  the  invitation  was  re- 
fused with  thanks. 

"Mrs.  Baring  will  be  expecting  us,"  said  Massinger. 
"And  I  imagine  that  under  present  conditions  getting  up 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     149 

a  dinner  is  an  effort  not  to  be  despised."  This  last  was 
more  to  Ludlowe  than  to  Gret,  but  Gret  heard  and  turned 
away  toward  the  cook-house  with  a  faint  smile. 

So  with  many  thanks  for  a  delightful  day  the  two  men 
went  home  to  the  mill-house,  and  Gret  went  in  to  supper 
in  the  camp. 

During  supper  she  was,  of  course,  called  upon  to  de- 
liver her  impressions  of  the  two  men  whose  escort  she 
had  lately  been. 

"Did  they  come  the  swell  act  on  you  like  the  woman 
did  ?"  inquired  Oly  with  a  grin. 

Several  of  the  other  men  laughed,  too,  having  had  the 
memorable  introduction  scene  most  minutely  and  faith- 
fully re-enacted  for  their  delectation,  and  having  been 
many  times  assured  that  in  missing  the  sight  of  Gret's 
face  on  that  occasion  they  had  missed  the  sight  of  their 
lives. 

"Oh,  no ;  oh,  no !"  observed  Jake  knowingly  from  his 
vantage-point  in  the  doorway.  "They  don't  give  you  the 
glad  hand  and  the  glassy  eye.  If  they  did  they  would  n't 
be  back  here  in  camp  with  a  whole  skin,  you  bet.  There  'd 
have  been  an  accident  somewheres.  Trust  Gret  for  that. 
Eh,  Gret?" 

Gret  smiled  amiably,  but  a  trifle  absently;  and  then 
during  the  rest  of  the  meal  she  sat  in  thoughtful  silence. 
The  men  did  not  remark  this  silence  particularly;  they 
were  accustomed  to  having  her  take  in  the  whole  of  a  con- 
versation in  judicial  silence,  and  then  at  the  end  of  it 
deliver  in  few  but  pregnant  words  both  her  opinion  of  the 
subject  discussed  and  those  discussing  it.  But,  as  it  hap- 
pened, she  really  was  paying  very  little  attention  to-night 
to  what  was  going  on  about  her.  All  that  had  been 
previously  of  unfailing  and  permanent  interest  to-night 
failed  to  divert.  Gret  was  face  to  face  with  a  new  set  of 
ideas,  new  vistas,  new  worlds  to  explore. 


ISO  GRET 

After  supper  she  slipped  quietly  away  and  went  home. 
It  was  rather  earlier  than  her  usual  time  for  returning, 
and  looking  across  from  the  camp-landing  she  saw  that 
Eva  was  not  yet  on  the  bluff  waiting  for  her  arrival.  It 
had  become  a  habit  of  Eva's  to  sit  on  the  bluff  overlook- 
ing the  river  and  wait  for  Gret  to  come  home,  when  the 
two  would  sit  chatting  for  an  hour  or  more  before  going 
to  bed.  Eva  looked  forward  to  this  chat,  and  Gret  never 
allowed  anything  to  cause  her  to  be  disappointed.  There 
was  great  affection  between  the  two  girls;  there  always 
had  been,  and  now  they  were  yearly  growing  in  com- 
panionship. Though  as  widely  different  as  night  from 
day,  yet  they  were  equals  in  intelligence.  Eva  was  natu- 
rally a  dreamer  and  a  bookworm,  her  tastes  sentimental 
and  all  her  ideas  romantic ;  and  though  in  earlier  years  a 
sadly  bewildered  little  student  and  a  vague  dreamer,  yet 
in  recent  years  her  mind  had  cleared  and  her  grasp  and 
perception  of  subjects  widened  wonderfully.  Moreover, 
as  she  got  older  she  took  to  going  to  her  mother  with 
such  as  were  puzzling  or  incomprehensible  to  her.  And 
though  at  first  inclined  to  slightly  deprecate  interruption, 
yet  Mrs.  Silway  was  struck  with  the  precocious  nature 
of  the  girl's  questions  and  the  wide  range  of  her  subjects, 
and  gradually  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the  awakening 
of  her  mind.  She  took  to  passing  her  books  on  to  Eva, 
with  remarks  and  explanations  where  advisable,  and  Eva 
in  return  afterward  discussed  the  work  with  her  mother. 
And  by  and  by,  into  the  older  woman's  poor,  frozen  heart, 
with  its  unnatural  peace  and  calmness,  there  crept  the 
sweet  warmth  of  companionship. 

But  this  entente  between  mother  and  daughter  did  not 
interfere  at  all  with  Eva's  love  for  Gret  nor  the  eager 
delight  she  took  in  her  companionship.  She  made  it  a 
practice  after  having  read  a  particularly  interesting  or 
stirring  book  to  lay  a  resume  of  it  before  Gret,  or  if  a 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     151 

new  or  startling  scientific  theory  to  present  it  for  Gret's 
inspection.  And  Gret,  who  was  far  too  restless  and  busy 
to  read  a  book  through  for  herself,  liked  well  enough  to 
listen  in  the  evenings  to  an  account  of  what  Eva  had 
been  reading  during  the  day.  She  would  pass  judgment 
on  the  heroine,  or  the  plausibility  of  theory,  in  her  usual 
unhesitating,  downright  way.  It  was  rarely  in  the  case 
of  fiction  that  Gret  knew  the  author,  and  she  never  cared 
particularly  to  know.  She  always  treated  the  subject 
with  more  or  less  condescension,  as  being  merely  the 
product  of  another's  imagination.  Still,  she  was  often 
carried  by  Eva's  enthusiasm  into  discussing  various  ficti- 
tious characters  with  much  ardor.  Very  various  and 
quaint  were  the  discussions  held  by  these  two  lonely  girls, 
ranging  all  the  way  from  the  atomic  theory  of  creation 
to  Ibsen's  heroines.  And  in  all  Gret's  intensely  practical, 
blunt  mind  counterbalanced  Eva's  dreamy,  poetic,  and 
highly  fanciful  tendencies,  while  partaking  slightly  now 
and  again  of  the  younger  girl's  fine  enthusiasm.  Thus 
each  worked  the  other's  weal. 

Eva  was  sitting  on  the  porch  with  her  mother,  read- 
ing, and  as  Gret  appeared  over  the  edge  of  the  bluflf 
she  put  her  book  down  in  the  chair  and  came  running 
to  meet  her.  Together  the  two  went  round  to  the  back 
of  the  house  to  find  Jack,  and  procure  for  him  the  piece 
of  cake  which  was  his  usual  and  highly  prized  supper. 

''You  did  n't  come  home  to  lunch,  Grettie,"  observed 
Eva. 

"No,"  responded  Gret.  "I  took  those  two  new  men 
from  the  mill-house  up  to  see  Spirit  Lake.  I  'm  going  to 
tell  you  all  the  funny  things  they  said  soon." 

The  two  girls  came  back  to  the  bluflF  with  the  piece  of 
cake  divided  equally  between  them  and  Jack  hopping  con- 
tentedly after  them.  Gret  placed  herself  on  the  ground, 
her  sinuous  body  lying  passive  on  the  mossy  sward,  and 


152  GRET 

Eva  seated  herself  on  her  feet— a  favorite  position  of 
hers,  which  allowed  of  her  rocking  her  body  gently  to 
and  fro.  Here,  while  they  alternately  fed  and  teased 
Jack  with  the  cake,  Gret  related  the  experiences  of  the 
day,  detailing  most  of  the  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  between  the  two  men. 

"They  must  lead  lives  a  great  deal  like  some  of  those 
people  in  your  books,"  she  remarked,  regarding  Eva  with 
unwavering  eyes.  "They  talked  of  receptions  and  crushes 
and  balls  and  things.  And  they  spoke  of  a  woman— I 
guess  she  must  have  been  a  swell,  too— who  did  just  as 
she  liked,  and  about  a  girl  who  had  to  marry  a  horrid 
man  ever  so  much  older  than  herself.  At  least,  they  said 
they  expected  her  mother  would  make  her  do  that." 

"I  told  you !"  said  Eva  triumphantly.  "You  said  books 
were  n't  natural.  Mother  said  people  led  lives  exactly 
like  many  of  those  in  the  books." 

'We  don't,"  observed  Gret  with  charming  egotism. 

"No;  but  mother  says  that  's  just  because  we  are  n't 
civilized." 

"Why  are  n't  we,  then  ?"  demanded  Gret. 

"Oh,  because  father  keeps  us  here  and  won't  let  us  be," 
explained  Eva  in  an  unconcerned,  matter-of-fact  way. 

"Humph!  If  I  were  mother  I  'd  see  about  it,"  com- 
mented Gret  ominously. 

"Oh,  well !"  said  Eva  thoughtfully.  "It  's  awfully  nice 
and  quiet  here.  And  I  believe  mother  would  just  hate  to 
be  with  father  all  the  time.    And  I  know  I  should." 

Gret  nodded,  her  mind  roving  quickly  to  other  things. 
"Say  Evie,  I  do  wish  you  could  see  these  new  people. 
They  're  so  different  to  all  these  about  here.  You  should 
just  see  the  young  lady — her  clothes  are  lovely.  She 
looks  quite  a  different  shape,  even,  to  us.  Come  down 
to  the  mill  with  me,  and  I  '11  show  them  all  to  you." 

"Oh,  no,  Grettie,  I  could  n't !"  said  Eva  shrinkingly. 


NEW  PIECES  ON  THE  BOARD     153 

Gret  stared,  her  sister's  shyness  being  an  undiminishing 
source  of  amazement  to  her.    "Why  not  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Oh-h,"  hesitatingly.  ''I  don't  like  to  come  out  all 
down  there.  I  would  like  to  see  them,  but—  And  then 
I  would  n't  know  what  to  say  to  them." 

"Say  the  same  as  the  people  in  books/'  advised  Gret. 
"You  ought  to  know  all  about  that."  Then  she  grinned 
roguishly,  having  in  mind  her  own  introduction  cere- 
mony. "Say  nothing.  Just  look  at  them."  Then,  indig- 
nantly :  "I  never  saw  such  a  girl  in  all  my  life !  I  believe 
you  think  that  if  you  were  to  come  out  of  this  old  house 
you  'd  get  eaten  up  right  away,  or  else  somebody  would 
look  at  you  and  you  'd  melt." 

"Oh,  no;  I  don't  think  that,"  contradicted  Eva  in  a 
gentle,  deprecating  way. 

"Yes,  you  do.  Won't  go  near  the  camp  because  the 
boys  look  at  you.  Of  course,  they  look  at  you."  And 
Gret  laughed  wickedly.  ''Why  not?  Suppose  they  're 
going  to  keep  their  eyes  on  the  sky  while  you  pass  by? 
If  I  were  as  pretty  as  you  I  'd  want  them  to  look  at  me." 

Eva  blushed,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  on  her  toes. 
She  had  all  a  student's  self -consciousness  and  shyness; 
and  as  there  had  been  no  one  to  insist  on  her  overcoming 
it,  nothing  to  push  her  forward  into  the  light  of  day,  it 
had  grown  almost  abnormal.  It  was  a  state  of  mind 
perfectly  incomprehensible  to  Gret,  who  had  never  in  her 
life  wasted  a  second  thought  as  to  whether  others  watched 
her  or  what  they  thought  if  they  did. 

"Well,"  observed  Gret  presently,  "I  'm  going  to  go  to 
San  Francisco  and  get  civilized  myself  one  of  these  days." 

"Oh,  you  don't  have  to  go  to  San  Francisco  to  do  it," 
said  Eva  quickly.  "Anywhere— any  big  town  will  do. 
Why,  in  Portland,  where  father  is  so  much,  they  're  quite 
civilized.  I  saw  a  lot  of  pictures  in  the  Pacific  Magazine 
that  father  left  here— big  hotels,  with  palm-trees  in  front, 


154  GRET 

and  street-cars  and  big  ships,  and  carriages,  and  stores  so 
big  that  you  could  get  Dimsdale's  into  one  of  the  win- 
dows." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know  any  one  in  Portland,"  remarked 
Gret,  quite  ignoring  the  fact  that  her  father  lived  there. 

"But  you  don't  know  any  one  in  San  Francisco,  either," 
objected  Eva. 

"But  I  shall  when  these  people  get  back,"  explained 
Gret. 

"But— I  don't  see  how  that  helps  things,"  said  Eva, 
puzzled.    "How  does  it,  Gret?" 

"Don't  know  yet,"  replied  Gret  with  a  little  frown. 
"I  've  got  to  think  about  it." 

And  that  ended  the  conversation  on  this  particular  sub- 
ject for  the  time  being.  But  though  for  a  couple  of  hours 
or  more  Gret  discussed  other  and  widely  different  things, 
yet  when  at  last  she  went  to  bed  the  thoughts  that  had 
been  only  laid  aside  came  trooping  back.  The  expedi- 
tions to  Quellish,  the  glories  of  Dimsdale's  store,  and  the 
affairs  of  the  camp— all  those  things  that  had  filled  her 
life  with  interest  became  suddenly  childish  and  insuffi- 
cient. There  comes  a  time  when  the  interests  that  have 
held  youth  fall  silently  away,  and  the  individual  stands 
face  to  face  with  the  half -wild,  half -stern,  but  wholly 
sweet  ambitions  of  womanhood  or  manhood. 

Gret  stood  on  the  edge  of  this  change,  and  to-night  her 
mind  was  a  chaos.  Soon  it  would  calm  down,  and  she 
would  grasp  the  new  order  of  things.  And  then  she 
would  plan. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  BENEVOLENT  CONSPIRACY 

IT  is  safe  to  say  that  no  character,  man  or  woman,  ever 
astonished  Gret  Silway  quite  as  much  as  did  Arthur 
Massinger.  In  the  first  place  it  was  only  her  curiosity 
that  was  aroused,  and  that  she  was  determined  to  satisfy. 
She  was  quick  to  detect  the  mysterious  something  behind 
that  gentle  personality,  some  hidden  delight,  some  ever- 
present  sweet  reflection,  which  gave  the  mild  yet  fever- 
bright  eyes  that  unfailing  look  of  peace  and  love.  But 
what  this  mysterious  something  was,  casual  observation 
would  not  disclose.    A  systematic  study  was  necessary. 

One  thing  Gret  did  soon  discover,  however,  as  a  result 
of  close  observation.  And  that  was  that  Massinger  suf- 
fered physically,  though  he  said  nothing  of  it.  In  this 
matter  she  felt  free  to  go  to  Ludlowe  for  information, 
having  already  set  that  unconscious  gentleman  up  in  her 
own  mind  as  the  highest  authority  obtainable  on  most 
matters,  the  Gamaliel  at  whose  feet  she  would  sit. 

"Is  n't  Mr.  Massinger  sick?"  she  asked  abruptly,  hav- 
ing sought  Ludlowe  high  and  low  and  finally  finding  him 
seated  on  the  camp-landing,  lazily  watching  the  drift- 
wood floating  down  with  the  tide. 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  smile.  The  girl's  abrupt, 
uncompromising  ways  amused  him  a  dozen  times  a  day. 
"Yes,  he  is,  and  a  very  sick  one,  too,  sometimes,"  he  said. 
"But  he  can't  or  won't  believe  it." 

"What 's  the  matter  with  him  ?"  inquired  Gret. 

"Consumption." 

"And  does  n't  he  know  it?"  marveled  Gret. 


156  GRET 

"Oh,  yes;  he  knows  it,  I  suppose.  But  consumptives 
rarely  think  they  are  as  bad  as  they  are,"  explained  Lud- 
lowe.  "I  fancy  Arthur  thinks  it  's  only  a  case  of  being 
over-tired  and  over-worked,  and  that  he  can  remedy  mat- 
ters at  any  time  he  chooses." 

"Can't  he  be  cured?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  he  might  be,  if  he  would  take  care  of 
himself,"  frowning  as  the  many-wasted  arguments  in  this 
line  occurred  to  him.    "But  he  won't." 

"What  's  good  for  him?"  demanded  Gret. 

"Plenty  of  fresh  air  and  rest  and  nourishing  food. 
That  's  all  I  know  of,"  replied  Ludlowe.  "The  mill- 
house,  in  that  hollow  down  by  the  river,  is  not  the  best 
place  in  the  world  for  him,  I  imagine.  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you  take  him  out  into  the  woods  and  higher  places.  En- 
tice him  out  as  much  as  you  can,  Gretchen;  only  don't 
overtax  his  strength." 

Gret  accepted  the  charge  in  a  grave,  matter-of-fact 
way.    "I  will.    Is  that  all  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  there  's  anything  else  you  can  do," 
said  Ludlowe,  smiling  again.  "No  one  can  really  do  very 
much  with  him.  He  barely  eats  enough  to  keep  a  spar- 
row alive.  A  consumptive's  appetite  is  a  most  capricious 
thing." 

Gret  nodded  thoughtfully.  "And  I  don't  suppose  the 
cooking  's  any  too  good  down  at  your  place  now  Anna  's 
gone." 

"It  's  not  easy  to  prepare  delicacies  in  a  locality  like 
this,"  returned  Ludlowe  evasively.  "Besides,  Arthur 
would  be  indignant  if  anything  were  prepared  especially 
for  him.    He  does  n't  own  to  being  an  invalid,  you  see." 

Gret  sat  down  on  the  landing  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Apparently  she  thought  very  deeply  on  some 
subject  or  other  for  a  few  minutes,  after  which  she 
jumped  up  and,  having  seemingly  forgotten  Ludlowe's 


A  BENEVOLENT  CONSPIRACY    157, 

presence,  went  up  the  board-walk  into  the  camp.  She 
entered  the  cook-house  and  sat  down  with  a  thoughtful 
air;  and  Jake,  noticing  the  meditative  expression  and 
observing  that  it  was  also  an  amiable  one,  brought  his 
chopping-bowl  over  and  sat  near  her. 

''Ever  know  any  one  that  had  consumption,  Jake?"  in- 
quired Gret,  opening  the  campaign  without  any  prelude 
as  usual. 

''Lots,"  responded  Jake  complacently.  "Dozens  of  'em 
in  the  hotel  in  Arizona  where  I  worked  once." 

"And  what  did  they  have  to  eat  ?"  demanded  Gret. 

"Oh,  oysters  and  beef  broth  and  chicken  and  eggs  and 
cream  beaten  up  with  wine,  and — oh,  most  anything 
that 's  good,"  replied  Jake.  "What  do  you  want  to  know 
for,  Gret?" 

"You  know  Arthur  Massinger,  don't  you?"  said  Gret. 
"The  tall  one — wears  the  light  suit."  Jake  nodded. 
"Well,  would  you  think  he  had  consumption  ?" 

"Yes,  looks  like  he  might  have,"  responded  Jake  with 
an  air  of  wisdom. 

"He  has.  You  're  not  to  tell  any  one,"  with  a  frown 
to  emphasize  her  words. 

"Course  not !    What  do  you  take  me  for  ?" 

Gret  did  not  specify,  but  a  faint  smile  rounded  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  "Well,  say,  Jake,  the  cooking 
must  be  awful  down  at  the  mill-house  for  a  man  that  's 
sick  and  can  hardly  eat  anything,  must  n't  it  ?" 

"You  bet;  awful  tough  proposition,"  agreed  Jake. 
"That  was  a  bad  stroke  of  business— losing  Anna 
Shogren." 

Gret  nodded  agreement.  "Say,  Jake,  could  n't  we 
manage  to  fix  up  something  nice  now  and  again  for  that 
young  man  to  eat?  Only,  of  course,  we  would  n't  have 
to  let  him  know  why  we  did  it.  I  think  he  's  very  nice 
and  good." 


158  GRET 

"Yes,  he  is  that,"  agreed  Jake  readily.  "Came  in  here 
and  sat  down  and  talked  about  an  hour  the  other  day, 
just  as  nice  as  anything;  no  preaching,  either.  Nothing 
stuck  up  about  him — not  so  much  as  the  other  one." 

"Oh,  the  other  one  is  n't  stuck  up  really,"  said  Gret 
quickly.    "It  's  just  his  manner." 

"Perhaps  so,"  allowed  Jake,  chopping  thoughtfully. 
"Well,  of  course,  I  can  make  beef  broth  for  the  young 
fellow,  and  I  guess  I  can  manage  chicken  now  and  again. 
Robin  's  got  a  fine  showing,  more  'n  necessary,"  with  a 
grin.  "He  's  getting  too  much  pocket-money  anyhow 
lately— taking  on  airs.    See  that  new  tie  of  his  ?" 

"See  it !"  Gret  laughed.  "Saw  it  as  soon  as  it  turned 
the  bend  of  the  river." 

"Told  me  he  was  saving  up,  too,"  went  on  Jake. 

"Pooh !    Fancy  Robin  saving,"  scoffed  Gret. 

"Oh,  I  guess  he  is  all  right,"  said  Jake  impressively. 
"It  's  all  off  with  his  going  to  Portland  if  he  does  n't." 

"Going  to  Portland,"  echoed  Gret. 

"Why,  yes."  Jake  looked  surprised.  "Did  n't  he  ever 
tell  you?  Yes,  he  says  he  's  tired  of  working  on  the 
farm  and  taking  his  uncle's  jaw.  He  's  going  to  Port- 
land to  be  a  store-clerk  or  something  like  that." 

"Humph !  May  not  be  so  easy  as  he  thinks,"  observed 
Gret.  "Say,  Jake,  I  believe  that  egg  and  cream  and  wine 
affair  is  one  of  the  best  things  for  a  sick  man;  don't 
you?" 

"Ought  to  be,"  agreed  Jake. 

"Well,  we  've  got  eggs  and  cream  up  here,  if  I  get  the 
wine,"  went  on  Gret. 

"Sure." 

"All  right.  I  '11  get  the  wine,"  with  a  confident  nod 
of  the  head.    "What  kind  shall  I  get  ?" 

"Dago  red,"  responded  Jake  promptly. 

Gret  looked  a  trifle  dubious.    "Well !    All  right,  then," 


A  BENEVOLENT  CONSPIRACY     159 

jumping  up.  She  stood  in  the  doorway  a  moment 
or  so,  debating;  then  she  went  up  the  skid  in  search  of 
Oly. 

"Going  down  to  Quellish  to-night?"  she  inquired  of 
that  bronzed  and  amiable  personage.  Oly  had  lately 
joined  the  gang  of  roystering  spirits  which  went  down 
from  the  camp  every  Saturday  night. 

Oly  nodded  with  a  smile  of  gleeful  anticipation. 
"Why  ?     What  do  you  want,  Gret  ?" 

"Want  you  to  go  into  Hoffman's  sample-room  and  get 
me  a  bottle  of  wine,"  explained  Gret  gravely. 

"Eh  ?"  in  open-eyed  amazement. 

"Did  n't  you  hear  what  I  said  ?" 

"Oh,  yes — only— all  right,  Gret.  What  do  you  want  it 
for?" 

"To  drink,  of  cours.e,"  dryly.  "What  did  you  suppose? 
Here  's  the  money,"  proffering  a  dollar. 

Oly  pocketed  it,  laughing,  but  understanding  that  no 
more  questions  were  to  be  asked.  "What  kind  of  wine, 
Gret?" 

"Dago  red,"  gravely. 

Oly  roared. 

"Why?    Is  n't  it  a  wine?"  demanded  Gret  sharply. 

"Yes,  course,"  still  laughing. 

"What  other  name  has  it  got  ?"  inquired  Gret  keenly. 

"Why,  it 's  mostly  called  port  wine." 

"Oh!"  Gret  looked  thoughtful  for  a  njpment,  but  re- 
served her  remarks  for  Jake.  "Well,  get  it  whatever  it 
is.  Take  it  to  Jake  and  tell  him  to  put  it  away  for  me," 
turning  to  go  back  down  the  road. 

"All  right— if  the  boys  don't  find  it  and  drink  it  up," 
said  Oly  facetiously. 

Gret  paused  on  her  downward  way.  "It  '11  be  there  on 
Sunday  morning,"  she  observed  finally. 

Oly  grinned. 


i6o  GRET 

It  amused  Ludlowe— and  other  observers,  too,  more  or 
less— to  see  the  solemn,  matter-of-fact  way  in  which  Gret 
took  possession  of  Arthur  Massinger.  With  that  com- 
plete disregard  of  all  extraneous  considerations  of  others 
and  the  opinions  of  others,  which  is  at  once  the  chief 
power  and  the  chief  characteristic  of  a  strong  will,  Gret 
pursued  her  course  all  unconscious  of  criticism  or  notice. 
She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  two  things :  to  cure 
Arthur  Massinger  if  fresh  air  and  good  food  would  do 
it,  and  to  discover  the  secret  of  that  unvarying  calm  and 
sweetness.  She  took  him  up  to  the  felling  grounds,  and 
together  they  would  sit  and  watch  the  great  trees  fall, 
clutching  the  air  with  giant  arms  in  a  last,  despairing 
grasp.  She  took  him  up  to  her  lakes,  and  together  they 
retarred  the  hidden  canoe;  she  took  him  down  to  Quel- 
lish  and  over  the  sweet-smelling  timber  mills— in  fact, 
she  managed  to  have  him  with  her  wherever  she  went. 
But  in  all  these  expeditions  she  husbanded  the  man's  fail- 
ing strength  as  a  mother  might  that  of  an  ailing  child ;  if 
it  was  a  matter  of  rowing,  she  did  it  all ;  if  the  climb  was 
stiff,  she  had  numberless  excuses  for  rests  and  a  rest  in- 
variably meant  the  beginning  of  a  conversation  or  dis- 
cussion which  would  last  at  least  half  an  hour.  And  she 
never  started  anywhere,  on  any  sort  of  an  expedition, 
without  first  of  all  being  stricken  with  hunger  which 
nothing  but  a  visit  to  Jake  could  appease.  And  in  the 
kitchen,  while  she  ate  heartily — which  was  a  feat  that 
presented  no  difficulty  at  any  hour  of  the  day— Jake 
would  be  taken  with  a  sudden  hospitable  notion  and  pre- 
pare a  glass  of  cream  beaten  to  a  froth  and  diluted  with 
wine,  or  bring  forth  a  bowl  of  delicately  clear  beef  broth, 
or  a  plate  of  chicken  and  biscuits.  And  so  sad,  crest- 
fallen, and  altogether  upset  was  he  if  Arthur  would  not  ac- 
cept these  delicacies  that  that  kindly  soul  would  eat  any- 
thing at  any  time  rather  than  inflict  the  pain  of  a  refusal. 


A  BENEVOLENT  CONSPIRACY    i6i 

Many  a  consultation  and  rehearsal  did  the  conspirators 
have  in  order  that  the  performance  might  be  varied  suf- 
ficiently to  escape  the  danger  of  premeditated  appear- 
ance ;  and  many  a  time  did  Gret  sit  down  and  indulge  in 
one  of  her  fits  of  laughter  over  their  duplicity  and 
Arthur's  innocence.  And  Ludlowe,  too,  frequently  ac- 
companying the  two  about,  perceived  the  manoeuvering 
and  was  secretly  amused  and  not  a  little  touched. 

Being  thus  constantly  in  Massinger's  company,  it  was 
not  long,  of  course,  before  Gret  discovered  the  leading 
influence  in  the  young  minister's  life.  For— whether 
rightly  or  wrongly  is  for  theologians  and  scientists  to  dis- 
cuss—Arthur believed  in  a  personal  Christ,  whose  Pres- 
ence was  with  him  every  moment  of  his  life.  Not  less 
real  than  the  girl  Gret  in  flesh  and  blood  beside  him  was 
this  Divine,  Invisible  Presence,  and  to  Arthur  the  "Friend 
that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother"  was  no  myth  of  an 
apostle's  imagination.  Gret  heard  all  this  in  so  many 
words  from  his  own  lips,  otherwise  she  would  never  have 
credited  her  senses.  Arthur  spoke  very  little  of  his  re- 
ligion as  a  rule ;  but  Gret  had  none,  and  he  hoped  to  win 
her  over  to  the  service  in  which  he  delighted.  From 
the  first  he  had  leaned  toward  the  girl,  whose  fearless, 
independent  nature,  magnetic  by  reason  of  its  very 
strength,  had  drawn  him  as  no  other  woman  nature  ever 
had  done,  and,  zealous  disciple  first  and  man  afterward, 
he  coveted  her  for  the  Master  he  loved. 

For  a  while  Gret  regarded  Arthur  with  wonder  not 
untinged  with  amusement  and  a  little  secret  scorn.  How 
a  man  of  so  much  learning  and  of  such  intellect— a  fel- 
low, in  fact  of  the  same  college  as  Ludlowe— could  harbor 
such  an  hallucination  passed  her  understanding.  That  he 
did,  wholly  and  unreservedly,  and  that  it  was  second 
nature  with  him,  she  could  not  long  doubt.  And  presently 
she  reconciled  herself  to  him  as  a  beautiful  character  and 

u 


i62  GRET 

a  scholarly,  manly  man,  with  just  this  one  peculiar  twist 
in  his  intellect.  She  was  too  kindly  natured  to  show  her 
amusement  and  utter  incredulity  in  the  matter,  for  she 
saw  how  dear  the  subject  was  to  the  man's  heart.  And 
so  to  his  dying  day  Arthur  never  knew  how  utterly  and 
pathetically  futile  were  his  endeavors  and  his  hopes- 
confident  to  the  end— to  win  to  the  cross  of  Christ  the 
pagan  soul  of  Gret. 

The  difference  in  opinions  between  Arthur  and  Errol 
Ludlowe  was  of  course  as  wide  as  the  poles,  and  this 
Gret  soon  realized.  They  were  frequently  together  with 
her,  and  nothing  in  their  conversation  ever  escaped  her. 
As  a  rule  they  avoided  arguing  on  matters  of  creed  and 
belief ;  their  friendship  was  too  deep  and  their  realization 
of  the  futility  too  great.  Still,  now  and  again  they 
touched  swords  lightly  on  such  matters. 

"How  can  you  look  on  all  this  and  not  be  thankful,  you 
pagan  ?"  demanded  Arthur  one  evening,  with  faint,  good- 
humored  regret. 

Gret  was  rowing  them  home  from  Quellish.  It  was 
evening,  just  a  little  past  sunset,  and  they  rowed  up  a 
river  like  an  endless  ribbon  of  opal  light  set  in  banks  of 
green  filigree;  pointed  daggers  of  light  thrust  through 
the  towering  walls  of  pines,  and  the  air  was  full  of  in- 
cense and  the  night  call  of  birds. 

*T  am  thankful,"  responded  Ludlowe  serenely. 

"What  for?"  inquired  Arthur  dubiously. 

"That  I  happen  to  suit  my  environments,  and  so  am 
here,"  explained  the  pagan. 

"Why  should  n't  you  suit  them  when  they  were  made 
for  you  ?"  smiling. 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Ludlowe,  who  was  in  the  mood 
to  tease  even  his  best  friend,  "you  take  it  that  your  en- 
vironments were  made  specially  for  you  and  that  there- 
fore they  are  bound  to  suit,  while  I  take  it  that  I  am  a 


A  BENEVOLENT  CONSPIRACY    163 

product  of  those  same  environments  which  are  Hkewise 
bound  to  suit.  Either  way  works  satisfactorily  in  this 
case." 

"How  can  you  avoid  beHeving  they  were  made  for  you 
if  you  beheve  in  creation  at  all  ?"  asked  Arthur  gravely. 

''I  don't — as  you  do,"  coolly.  "Organic  and  chemical 
laws  acting  on  primordial  nebulae  appeals  more  strongly 
to  my  reason  than  a  Creator  evolving  planets  by  a  thought 
out  of  chaos." 

"Ah,  you  're  a  hopeless  case,"  said  Arthur  smiling, 
but  still  with  that  faint  shade  of  regret. 

Ludlowe  regarded  him  with  a  sort  of  affectionate 
amusement  for  a  moment  or  so,  and  then  glanced  away. 
Facing  them  both  sat  Gret,  rowing.  Her  wide  eyes  were 
on  Ludlowe's  face ;  the  sunset-light  streamed  straight 
into  them,  and  to  Ludlowe  they  looked  afire. 

Once  in  a  Hfetime  there  comes  to  the  eyes  of  men  and 
women  this  lightning  flash  of  delight.  For  the  merest 
part  of  a  second,  quenched  instantly  by  conventionality 
and  reserve  and  rarely  noticed,  it  yet  comes — this  light- 
ning acclaim  of  the  heart  and  senses.  Happy  the  soul  that 
once  in  a  cycle  of  time  reaches  out  and  touches  its  mate. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   FRIEND   IN    NEED 

"/^^  RET,  come  here  and  let  us  look  at  you.  What  have 
Vjr  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  this  frightful  day?" 

From  the  mill  threshold,  over  which  she  was  about  to 
cross,  Gret  looked  across  to  the  mill-house  lawn,  or  that 
more  or  less  uneven  slope  of  bank  which  lay  directly  in 
front  of  the  house  and  did  duty  in  that  capacity.  Upon 
it  in  various  attitudes  of  prostration  lay  Ludlowe,  Mas- 
singer,  and  Fonseker ;  near-by,  in  a  folding  chair,  Maude 
recHned.    Gret  strolled  across  and  joined  them. 

*7ust  look  at  her,"  went  on  Ludlowe  in  injured  tones. 
"Cool  as  a,  cucumber.  Gret,  nothing  but  a  savage  could 
be  cool  on  a  day  like  this." 

"No?"  Gret  smiled  unconcernedly.  Then  she  looked 
down  on  the  recumbent  figure  of  the  man,  the  smile  dying 
away.  From  Ludlowe  her  glance  wandered  off  down  the 
river,  and  then  back  to  the  lawn.  She  looked  Massinger 
over  critically,  and  then  glanced  across  at  Maude.  Maude 
smiled  sweetly.  She  liked  Gret  about  as  well  as  she  liked 
any  woman.  There  was  nothing  dangerous  to  present 
interests  about  her,  and  then  Maude  was  secretly  de- 
lighted at  the  way  in  which,  from  the  day  of  the  intro- 
duction until  the  present,  Gret  had  methodically  ignored 
Mrs.  Baring's  existence.  Many  a  time  after  that  memo- 
rable incident,  when  household  troubles  began  to  thicken 
about  her  and  she  had  nowhere  to  turn  for  advice  and 
help,  Mrs.  Baring  would  have  been  glad  to  call  on  and 
consult  the  once  despised  camp-girl.     And  then  as  she 

164 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  165 

came  to  live  in  the  place  and  to  see  local  things  and  people 
in  something  like  their  true  local  perspective,  she  recog- 
nized, in  part  at  all  events,  her  mistake — mistake,  that  is, 
from  the  point  of  present  advisability  and  comfort.  She 
recognized  too,  as  she  was  bound  to  do,  the  girl's  domi- 
nant character  and  the  practical,  resourceful  mind;  but 
with  recognition  her  interest  had  to  cease.  She  could  not 
avail  herself  of  any  of  these  same  useful  qualities.  Gret 
had  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  mill-house  since 
she  herself  had  entered  it,  and  in  face  of  the  indiflference 
of  Gret's  serene  manner  even  Mrs.  Baring's  hauteur  was 
abashed.  If  Gret  had  been  playing  a  part,  or  merely  re- 
taliating, it  is  doubtful  whether  she  could  have  been  so 
eminently  successful.  But  she  was  not.  Her  indifference 
was  as  real  and  unfeigned  as  it  was  complete. 

Mrs.  Baring  made  many  overtures,  and  tried  in  several 
inconspicuous  ways  to  make  amends  for  early  errors,  but 
to  no  purpose.  She  could  not  succeed  for  the  simple 
reason  that  she  was  entirely  without  the  range  of  Gret's 
consideration.  And  of  these  manoeuvers  and  these  fail- 
ures Maude  was  fully  cognizant,  being  in  secret  much 
edified.  She  invited  Gret  to  be  seated  now  with  as  much 
cordiality  as  she  ever  displayed  to  any  one.  But  Gret 
shook  her  head. 

"I  'm  not  going  to  stay,  thank  you.  I  just  came  down 
to  the  mill  to.  see  if  an  order  was  out."  She  turned  her 
head  in  Fonseker's  direction.  "I  don't  think  it  is,  is  it — 
that  Hart  and  Kern  ?" 

''Was  n't  at  noon,"  replied  Bertie,  gazing  at  Gret  side- 
ways from  out  the  shelter  of  a  straw  hat  laid  flat  on  his 
face. 

"Dick  thought  if  the  Transfer  was  coming  up  for  that 
it  could  bring  us  up  some  supplies  instead  of  sending  for 
them,"  said  Gret  thoughtfully.  "I  was  going  down  to 
have  them  put  on  board." 

"Yes  ?"  murmured  Bertie  with  polite  interest. 


i66  GRET 

"Well,  there  's  no  hurry  for  that.  Sit  down,  Gret,'* 
commanded  Ludlowe.  '^Arthur  and  I  had  an  argument 
this  morning,  and  as  you  are  about  the  only  person  who 
can  properly  settle  it,  we  postponed  it  until  your  arrival. 
He  said-" 

At  this  juncture  Bobbie  appeared  in  the  doorway  of 
the  mill-house.  Through  the  open  window  of  her  sitting- 
room  Mrs.  Baring  had  noticed  Gret.  Being  at  present 
engaged  in  a  gloomy  discussion  of  the  ever-present  hired- 
girl  difficulty,  she  had  been  struck  with  an  idea. 

"1  wonder  whether  Gret  could  help  us  at  all." 

"Could  if  she  would,  I  dare  say,"  responded  Bobbie, 
who  was  actively  engaged  in  collecting  together  the  para- 
phernalia necessary  to  the  establishment  of  himself  in 
comfort  on  the  lawn. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  why  she  should  n't,"  observed  Mrs. 
Baring  plaintively. 

"And  I  ^m  afraid  she  does  n't  see  why  she  should, 
either,"  commented  Bobbie. 

"Well,—"  Mrs.  Baring  looked  entirely  unconvinced. 
She  reflected  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  just  as  Bobbie 
was  about  to  depart  with  his  collection  of  necessaries, 
looked  up.  "Well,  tell  her— Gret— that  I  want  to  see  her." 

Bobbie  paused  in  his  career  and  called  across  the  lawn, 
cutting  short  Ludlowe's  sentence,  "Gret,  mother  wants 
to  see  you!"  Then,  in  response  to  remonstrance  from 
within,  "What?  Oh,  it  does  n't  matter.  Gret  does  n't 
mind  my  shouting." 

Gret  smiled.    "Well,  I  'm  not  going  to  run  away." 

"I  know;  but  mother  wants  you  to  come  into  the 
house,"  explained  Bobbie. 

Gret  shook  her  head  calmly :  "I  've  got  to  hurry  back 
to  the  camp." 

Bobbie  lugged  his  load  of  creature  comforts  back  over 
the  threshold.    "I  told  you  so.    She  won't  come." 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  167 

Mrs.  Baring  looked. resigned,  but  like  most  persons  of 
haughty  tendencies  she  was  able,  when  her  comfort  or 
convenience  became  involved,  to  stoop  with  equal  and 
sometimes  amazing  facility.  "Take  a  chair  out  for  me, 
then,  Bobbie.    I  must  come  out  myself." 

Bobbie  seized  another  deck-chair,  and  dragging  it 
across  the  lawn  deposited  it  near  Gret.  "Don't  you  move, 
madam.    Mother  's  coming  out  to  talk  to  you." 

Gret  looked  with  a  slight  smile  from  Bobbie  to  the 
chair,  and  then  at  the  stately  figure  sailing  toward  her 
over  the  sward.  She  varied  not  a  muscle  from  her  easy 
standing  attitude,  but  watched  Mrs.  Baring  thoughtfully 
as  she  gracefully  intrusted  herself  to  the  yielding  mercies 
of  the  deck-chair.  Being  comfortably  ensconced,  Mrs. 
Baring  looked  up  at  the  girl  before  her,  the  faint,  puzzled 
look  of  interest  coming  into  her  eyes  that  the  sight  of 
Gret  now  quite  frequently  awakened.  She  could  not  un- 
derstand the  girl's  self-possession  and  poise,  it  being  a 
pet  theory  of  hers  that  these  were  the  positive  hall-marks 
of  long  and  consistent  good  birth  and  breeding,  obtain- 
able in  that  and  no  other  way. 

And  Gret  stood  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing, not  because  she  found  anything  puzzling  or  even 
interesting  in  that  lady,  but  because  she  was  wondering 
whether— in  view  of  certain  nebulous  ideas  and  plans 
already  floating  in  her  brain— she  would  ever  need  to 
make  use  of  her. 

"Gret,"  began  Mrs.  Baring  plaintively,  "does  your 
mother  have  much  trouble  with  her  servants  ?" 

"No."  Gret  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no !  Lizzie  's  been 
with  us  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"How  fortunate!"  murmured  Mrs.  Baring  enviously. 
"I  have  had  so  much  trouble  with  mine.  Really  some- 
times I  get  so  much  discouraged  that  I  feel  I  must  give 
up  and  go  home  sooner  than  I  intended." 


i68  GRET 

This  was  a  result  Gret  had  not  considered  and  did  not 
desire.  She  frowned  thoughtfully.  "What  is  the  matter 
with  all  the  girls?"  she  inquired. 

"Why,  they  're  ignorant— absolutely  ignorant,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Baring,  with  emphasis  almost  amounting  to 
excitement.  "And  if  you  attempt  to  teach  them  they  get 
insulted  and  leave!" 

Gret  drew  a  mental  outline  of  Mrs.  Baring's  probable 
attempts  at  teaching  and  smiled.  She  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, and  Mrs.  Baring  went  on  tentatively. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  of  a  good  girl,  Gret?  You 
seem  to  know  every  one  about  here." 

Gret  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know  anybody  better 
than  Anna  Shogren  was,  and  you  did  n't  like  her." 

"She  did  n't  wait  to  see  whether  I  did  or  not,"  said 
Mrs.  Baring  petulantly. 

"Well,  she  thought  you  did  n't  anyway,"  smiling 
slightly.  "You  know,  out  here  hired  girls  are  just  as 
good  as  those  that  hire  them.  Any  one  that  thinks  differ- 
ently has  got  to  do  her  own  work.  They  don't  think  that 
way  down  in  San  Francisco,  do  they  ?" 

"They  're  a  perfectly  different  class,  of  course,"  said 
Mrs.  Baring  with  an  unconscious  return  to  hauteur. 

"Yes?  Well,  they  're  not  here.  It  's  considered  all 
right  to  work  for  one's  living,"  explained  Gret  coolly. 
She  was  not  at  all  interested  in  having  Mrs.  Baring  come 
to  a  right  way  of  thinking;  but  she  felt  that  the  senti- 
ments propounded  would  be  distasteful  to  that  lady  and 
insisted  on  them  accordingly. 

"Oh,  well,  it 's  not  necessary  for  us  to  discuss  the  back- 
woods view  of  the  servant  question  as  against  the  city 
view,"  said  Mrs.  Baring  with  cold  resignation.  "The 
question  is,  how  am  I  to  get  a  decent  girl?  I  must  get 
one  somehow.  I  feel  sure  Linda  means  to  go  this  even- 
ing.    I  notice  all  her  things  are  gone  from  round  the 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  169 

kitchen.  They  never  say  anything  until  they  are  ready 
to  walk  out." 

Gret  laughed  amusedly.  Then  she  reflected  for  a  sec- 
ond or  so,  looking  thoughtfully  at  Mrs.  Baring  from 
time  to  time. 

"Well,  if  Anna  could  be  got  back,"  went  on  Gret,  with 
emphasis  on  the  "if,"  "could  you  keep  her,  do  you  think  ?" 

"Oh,  dear  me,  I  should  never  go  near  her,"  declared 
Mrs.  Baring  dramatically. 

*'Well,  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  'd  do  if  I  were  in  your 
place,"  said  Gret  thoughtfully.  "When  I  wanted  any- 
thing done,  or  altered,  or  anything  like  that,  I  'd  let  Bob- 
bie or  Bertie  do  it.  They  always  got  along  with  her  all 
right.  She  never  seemed  to  get  mad  at  anything  they  said 
to  her,  and  yet  they  were  always  teaching  her  something." 

"Oh,  yes.  We  managed  the  Unalterable  beautifully, 
did  n't  we,  Bert  ?" 

"You  did,"  said  Bertie  gently. 

"Bobbie  is  of  a  happily  democratic  and  cosmopolitan 
nature,"  remarked  Ludlowe,  who  was  lying  taking  in 
everything  in  indolent  amusement. 

"But  how  could  we  get  Anna  back  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing, intent  on  the  main  question. 

"I  '11  see,"  replied  Gret  shortly. 

"Oh,  do  you  know  where  she  is,  then?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Baring  instantly. 

The  auditors  on  the  lawn,  knowing  of  Mrs.  Baring's 
suspicions  as  to  Gret's  share  in  Anna's  sudden  departure, 
suppressed  smiles— an  effort  which  was  not  lost  on  Gret. 
She  looked  into  Mrs.  Baring's  eyes  with  unwavering 
gaze.    "I  know  where  her  home  is,  of  course." 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Baring's  sharpness  subsided.  "Well, 
will  you—" 

"Yes,  I  '11  see,"  replied  Gret  with  a  nod  of  the  head. 
Then  she  turned  hastily  on  her  heel,  suddenly  remember- 


I70  GRET 

ing  her  original  errand.  "Goodness,  I  must  hurry  back ! 
Dick  won't  know  what  has  happened  to  me."  And  with 
a  smihng  glance  round  the  prostrate  group  on  the  lawn 
she  walked  off. 

"Well,  I  wonder  when  she  '11  see,''  grumbled  Mrs. 
Baring.  "She  's  such  a  funny  creature— never  says  what 
she  intends  to  do." 

"No,  but  she  does  it,"  grinned  Bobbie. 

"Yes.  I  consider  Gret  the  most  pronounced  character 
in  the  way  of  a  woman  that  I  ever  met,"  observed  Lud- 
lowe.  "Placed  in  other  circumstances  she  'd  have  been  a 
Cleopatra  or  a  Catherine." 

"Oh,  no,  not  that,  Errol,"  demurred  Massinger.  "Gret 
is  quite  womanly,  and  her  heart  is  in  the  right  place." 

Ludlowe  lay  near  Massinger,  and  he  turned  his  head 
and  glanced  quizzically  at  his  friend.  "I  hope  it  is, 
Arthur,"  he  said,  "wherever  that  may  be." 

Gret  stayed  in  the  mill  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
went  back  to  the  camp.  About  half  an  hour  later  the 
mill-house  company  beheld  her  rowing  down-stream  in 
her  deliberate,  automatic  way.  Three  or  four  heads  were 
raised  off  cushions  and  camp-chairs. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Gret  ?" 

"Quellish,"  came  the  laconic  answer. 

"Bet  you  what  you  like  she  's  going  to  find  Anna," 
prophesied  Bobbie. 

"Bobbie,  don't  get  into  the  habit  of  saying  that  word 
*bet'  so  frequently,"  entreated  his  mother.  "Every  other 
sentence  lately  contains  it.  If  you  ever  go  back  home 
you  '11  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  eliminating  from 
your  speech  these  slang  words  and  phrases." 

"Won't  want  to,"  responded  Bobbie  promptly.  "Sas- 
siety  will  think  it  's  awfully  cute.  At  least,  if  I  can't  be 
rich  I  can  be  famous." 

Bobby's  prophecy  was  very  correct. 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  171 

It  was  not  very  long  before  Gret's  boat,  with  Anna  sit- 
ting stolidly  upright  in  the  stern,  rounded  the  bend  of  the 
stream  and  came  in  sight  of  the  mill-house.  A  ripple  of 
laughter  went  round  the  lawn. 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  Bobbie.  "There  's  Anna,  sure 
enough."  And  Bobbie  went  off  into  a  series  of  chuckles, 
and  rolled  on  the  grass  in  ecstasy. 

''What  an  extraordinary  girl !"  gasoed  Mrs.  Baring. 

''Just  think  of  all  she  's  done  while  we  've  been  loung- 
ing here  on  this  lawn  without  stirring,"  said  Bertie  in 
accents  of  awe.    "It  makes  one  warm  to  think  of  it." 

"I  'm  afraid  she  '11  grow  old  very  young,"  commented 
Maude  with  a  little  laugh. 

"I  don't  know,  now,"  said  Ludlowe,  surveying  the 
approaching  boat  with  interest.  "Do  you  think  any  one 
with  an  energy  like  hers  ever  does  grow  old  ?" 

Gret  ran  the  boat  hard  into  the  bank,  and  held  it  along- 
side by  the  aid  of  a  willow  branch.  Bobbie  and  Massin- 
ger  both  hurried  down  to  help  Anna  and  her  telescope 
bag,  which  &he  seemed  to  consider  by  far  the  most  pre- 
cious part  of  the  load,  out  of  the  boat. 

"Glad  to  see  you  back,  old  lady,"  said  Bobbie  with 
genuine  cordiality. 

"Hallo,  Anna !"  smiled  Bertie  sweetly. 

The  rest  of  the  company  smiled  amiably,  and  among 
them  was  Mrs.  Baring  herself,  though  she  found  nothing 
to  say.  And  Anna  went  on  her  way  up  the  lawn  with  the 
telescope  and  a  wide  smile.  As  she  passed  on  Mrs. 
Baring  rose  and  hurried  after. 

Gret,  from  her  position  in  the  boat,  glanced  from  one 
to  another  of  the  little  group.  Then  her  eyes  fell  on 
Massinger,  who  was  coming  toward  her  down  the  lawn, 
and  she  smiled.  Massinger  seated  himself  as  near  the 
edge  of  the  boat  as  safety  permitted. 

"Where  have  you  been  all  day?"  he  asked. 


172  GRET 

"Why,  I  went  up  to  see  our  new  timber  tract  with 
Dick,"  explained  Gret.  "I  did  n't  quite  know  how  far  it 
was  or  how  hard  to  get  to,  so  I  thought  I  'd  better  not 
take  you." 

"It  has  seemed  so  strange  not  to  see  you  all  day,"  went 
on  Massinger,  his  gentle,  kindly  eyes  resting  on  the  girl's 
face  with  almost  unconscious  affection.  And  in  truth  it 
had  seemed  strange.  He  had  gone  up  to  the  camp  look- 
ing for  her,  and  it  seemed  to  him  the  camp  was  positively 
deserted  when  that  laconic,  dominant  personality  was 
absent.  He  had  made  several  plans  for  the  disposal  of 
his  time,  and  then  had  felt  too  tired  to  carry  any  of  them 
out.  And  yet  he  never  did  feel  tired  in  the  face  of  any- 
thing Gret  proposed  to  do.  It  seemed  as  if  her  energy 
were  enough  for  both  and  bore  him  along  on  its  never- 
failing  tide. 

"Well,  it  was  awfully  hot  to-day,"  said  Gret  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  way.    "I  guess  you  were  better  off  down  here." 

"Well,  I  did  n't  like  being  better  off,"  responded  Arthur 
with  a  laugh. 

Gret  smiled,  too,  and  indicated  by  a  tap  of  her  foot  the 
bright  new  pails  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  "Well,  to- 
morrow— " 

"What  are  those  for,  Gret?"  shouted  the  ever-inquisi- 
tive Bobbie,  his  attention  attracted  by  the  movement. 

"To  go  blackberrying  with,"  replied  Gret. 

Bobbie  sat  up  from  out  the  depths  of  his  cushions. 
"Well,  say,  let  's  all  go  up  and  have  a  picnic,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,  that  's  a  good  idea,"  commended  Maude;  "and 
get  Jake  to  put  up  the  lunch.  Just  at  present  our  larder 
is  sadly  depleted." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Gret,  placing  her  oars  in  the 
rowlocks  and  preparing  to  push  off.  "Well,  then,  you  '11 
all  be  in  camp  to-morrow  morning  by  eight  o'clock  ?" 

"Eight  o'clock  ?"  in  chorus. 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  173 

"Why,  yes.  The  earHer  we  start  the  cooler  it  will  be 
to  climb/'  explained  Gret  with  a  laugh. 

"Can  you  get  up  that  early,  Miss  Vibart?"  inquired 
Bobbie  with  undue  solicitation. 

"Of  course  !"  responded  that  lady  indignantly. 

"All  right,  then,  Gret ;  as  near  eight  as  ever  we  possibly 
can,"  said  Bobbie  with  an  air  of  finality. 

Gret  nodded,  and  pushed  off  into  the  stream,  smiling  as 
she  went.  She  tied  up  at  the  camp  landing  and  went  up 
to  prepare  Jake  for  the  task  ahead  of  him  in  the  morning. 
That  long-suffering  gentleman  was  meditatively  plucking 
a  fowl. 

"Another?"  laughed  Gret,  scanning  the  unfortunate 
bird  and  trying  by  what  remained  of  its  feathers  to  locate 
it  among  the  flocks  she  knew.  "Don't  see  how  you  get 
them,  Jake." 

"Easy,"  laconically.  And  then  he  observed  in  a  tone  of 
voice  that  sufficiently  separated  the  two  statements.  "I 
just  been  up  to  the  Orchards,  Gret." 

"Well.  You  did  n't  bring  that  from  there,  did  you?" 
nodding  laughingly  at  the  fowl  between  Jake's  knees. 

"No,  oh  no !  Got  this  last  night,"  still  meditative. 
"Say,  Gret,  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing  and  that  ain't  two. 
Robin  Start  's  a  darned  fool." 

"Yes  ?"  Gret  sat  down  carefully  on  the  sack  of  potatoes 
in  front  of  Jake. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Jake  impressively.  "He  's  just  a  fool, 
that  's  what  he  is,  with  his  talk  of  Portland.  Now  you 
mind  me,  Gret.  If  he  goes  to  Portland,  or  any  other 
place,  his  uncle  '11  die  and  old  Widow  Bennett  will  have 
that  place  deeded  on  to  her  so  tight  that  it  '11  make 
Robin's  head  swim." 

Gret's  apathy  vanished,  and  her  eyes  opened  wide. 
Robin  as  a  chum  and  running  partner  was  a  back  num- 
ber, but  Robin,  or  any  other  friend  or  associate,  in  danger 


174  GRET 

of  being  injured  or  defrauded  was  quite  another  matter, 
though  she  did  not  immediately  accept  Jake's  assertions 
as  fact. 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ?"  she  demanded.  "I  don't 
beheve  old  man  Start  ever  would  deed  the  ranch  to 
Widow  Bennett.    What  business  would  she  have  with  it  ?" 

"All  right,  now— you  '11  see,"  predicted  Jake  sagely. 
"It  's  not  the  first  time  I  've  seen  that  racket  worked. 
She  's  not  the  first  woman  by  a  good  many  that 's  stepped 
in  with  an  old  man  at  the  last  minute  and  got  what  should 
have  gone  to  others.  Course,  Start  's  not  so  old  as  all 
that;  but  he  's  quite  old  enough  for  a  woman  to  fool. 
There  's  no  telling,"  added  Jake  with  sad  philosophy, 
"when  a  man  ain't.  Besides,  the  old  man  Start  is  n't  go- 
ing to  live  very  long  neither,"  said  Jake  decidedly. 

Gret  regarded  Jake  with  steady  interest.  "Well,  but, 
Jake,  why  should  Uncle  Start  take  to  Widow  Bennett  all 
of  a  sudden?  She  's  been  with  them  for  years,  and  I 
never  heard  that  he—" 

Jake  wagged  his  head  wisely.  "When  a  man  's  sick, 
and  a  woman  begins  to  do  for  him,  that  's  the  time  she 
gets  her  work  in.  You  get  kind  of  dependent  on  them, 
and  then  if  they  know  anything  at  all  they  can  just  wind 
you  all  up." 

"And  does  Widow  Bennett  know  anything  at  all?" 
queried  Gret  smiling. 

"You  bet  she  does.  She  's  just  managing  things  in  fine 
style."    Jake  laughed. 

Suddenly  Gret  rose,  a  little  impatient  frown  on  her  face. 
"I  'm  going  up  to  the  Orchards  right  now,  Jake,"  she 
observed  with  a  nod  of  the  head.  "When  I  come  back 
I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think." 

Gret  went  on  her  errand  in  her  own  deliberate  way, 
neither  turning  aside  nor  hurrying  overmuch.  She 
paused  at  the  head  of  the  slough  to  listen  to  an  altercation 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  175 

between  the  engineer  and  one  of  the  skid  hands,  and  she 
held  a  conversation  with  Eva  on  the  bluff  from  out  the 
boat  as  she  prepared  to  row  round  the  bend.  Eva  was 
reading  a  "lovely  book,"  whose  motif  she  wished  to  im- 
part and  discuss,  and  Gret  promised  to  get  home  early. 
But  never  once  did  her  mind  really  wander  from  the  mat- 
ter in  hand,  and  as  she  tied  the  boat  at  the  Start  landing 
she  observed  with  satisfaction  that  the  old  man  was  sit- 
ting on  the  porch. 

Gret's  face  was  a  study  in  amiable,  nothingness  as  she 
walked  through  the  orchard  up  to  the  house  and  seated 
herself  on  the  porch  steps  a  little  below  where  the  old  man 
sat. 

"Well,  Uncle  Start,"  she  observed  with  smiling  famil- 
iarity. 

"Well,  Gret,"  responded  he,  regarding  her  with  friendly 
curiosity.  As  far  as  his  interest  in  her  went  he  had  rather 
liked  Gret  from  a  little  girl  up.  Something  in  her 
blunt,  purposeful  make-up  attracted  him,  who  had  always 
been  himself  a  man  of  few  words  and  much  work. 

"You  have  n't  been  around  much  lately,  Gret,"  he  re- 
marked then.     "What  you  been  domg  with  yourself?" 

"Minding  other  people's  business  mostly,"  replied  Gret 
coolly,  her  eyes  resting  a  moment  on  the  old  man's  face. 
Jake  was  quite  right;  a  certain  drawn,  chalky  look  had 
come  over  it,  it  seemed  to  Gret,  even  since  she  last  saw 
him. 

Mrs.  Bennett  came  into  the  doorway  behind  them,  and 
Gret  fancied  there  was  an  alert,  inquiring  look  in  the 
comely  widow's  eyes,  but  was  willing  to  make  due  al- 
lowances for  imagination,  knowing  she  had  come  seeking 
just  such  signs  as  these.  She  made  a  mental  note,  though, 
of  the  fact  that  she  had  come  uncalled  to  the  door  at  all. 
She  had  not  been  wont  to  do  so,  and  it  struck  Gret  just  in 
a  passing  way  that  she  had  probably  thought  it  Robin 


176  GRET 

talking  and  had  grown  into  the  habit  of  interrupting  tete- 
a-tetes.  Seeing  Gret,  she  was  reassured  and  smiled  pleas- 
antly. Supposing  she  really  had  any  plans  Gret  was  the 
last  person  in  the  world  she  would  suspect  of  either  in- 
terest or  desire  to  frustrate. 

"Well!"  she  ejaculated  in  jesting  surprise.  "Not  very 
often  we  see  you  nowadays,  Gret.  Expect  you  Ve  got 
lots  of  company  down  at  the  mill^house." 

**!  never  go  into  the  mill-house,"  said  Gret,  truthfully 
enough. 

"No?"  surprised,  and  sinking  with  her  pleasant,  unas- 
sertive familiarity  into  a  seat  near  the  old  man.  "Not 
very  sociable,  are  they — those  ladies  ?" 

"Oh,  sociable  enough  in  their  way,  I  suppose,"  replied 
Gret  non-committally.  And  then,  changing  the  subject 
with  the  ease  of  one  not  particularly  interested  in  any- 
thing. "Has  Rob  been  to  get  you  any  blackberries  yet, 
Mrs.  Bennett?" 

"No,  he  has  n't,"  wistfully.  "I  guess  they  're  mostly 
all  gone,  are  n't  they  ?" 

"No— oh,  well,  yes,  perhaps  so,  just  in  the  well-known 
places,"  said  Gret.  "But  I  know  a  patch,  on  a  west  slope 
—my!  Mrs.  Bennett,  you  should  just  see  them;  big  as 
tame  berries,  almost." 

"Well!"  said  Mrs.  Benne-tt,  with  enthusiasm.  "Fine 
they  are  to  put  up,  too.  I  'd  like  awfully  well  to  have 
some." 

"I  'm  going  to  pick  all  day  to-morrow  for  Lizzie  and 
Jake  to  put  up,"  went  on  Gret;  "and  I  just  thought  if 
Robin  had  not  picked  already  he  could  go  along,  and  I  'd 
show  him  my  patch.  Can't  possibly  pick  them  all  my- 
self," she  added,  as  an  artistic  toning  down  of  a  possibly 
unnatural  display  of  generosity. 

It  never  occurred  to  either  of  her  listeners  that  Gret 
really  was  showing  an  unusual  amount  of  kindly  fore- 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  177 

thought,  or  that  she  was  just  as  likely  to  know  what 
Robin  had  and  had  not  done  as  they  themselves. 

'Terhaps  he  might  go,"  observed  Mrs.  Bennett  gently. 

"Where  is  he  now  ?"  inquired  Gret. 

"Goodness  knows,"  put  in  the  old  man  with  cold  sar- 
casm. "Come  here  at  meal  times  and  you  Ve  sure  to  find 
him.    But  that 's  about  all." 

Gret  smiled  as  she  noted  the  heartfelt  disgust  in  the 
tones  of  old  Start's  voice.  "Oh,  no  doubt  I  shall  run 
across  him  somewhere,"  she  remarked  lightly.  "If  not, 
just  tell  him  to  come  up  to  camp  to-morrow  morning  very 
early." 

"I  '11  tell  him  you  said  to  come,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bennett 
with  gentle  amiability.  "Robin  's  too  big  now  for  us  to 
tell  him  to  go  do  this,  or  do  that." 

"We  're  never  too  big  for  that,"  said  Gret  hypocriti- 
cally. She  did  not  wish  them  to  suppose  her  an  especial 
advocate  of  Robin's.  In  that  case  they  would  hardly  air 
any  of  their  views  concerning  him  and  his  ways,  and  she 
would  have  no  opportunity  of  judging  in  the  matter. 

"Some  people  are,",  observed  Start ;  "and  they  '  re 
mostly  those  that  ain't  worth  a  cent  themselves— just  owe 
all  they  've  got  to  others." 

Gret  nodded  in  grave  assent,  and  Mrs.  Bennett  stroked 
creases  in  her  apron.  In  reality  Gret  wanted  to  laugh 
aloud ;  they  were  so  like  two  children  reciting  their  parts 
to  her.  But  it  certainly  would  not  do  to  laugh  at  this 
stage  of  the  proceedings,  and  so  she  sat  in  a  state  of  be- 
coming gravity.  No  one  spoke,  and  Gret  turned  over  in 
her  mind  for  an  auspicious  and  profitable  opening.  Her 
eyes  fell  on  the  long  rows  of  strawberry  plants  traversing 
one  side  of  the  orchard. 

"Have  a  good  crop  of  berries  this  year  ?"  she  inquired 
of  Start. 

"Not  so  very— no,"  replied  the  old  man,  glancing  with 

12 


178  GRET 

stern  disfavor  at  the  plants  in  question.  "You  see  I  Ve 
been  most  too  sick  all  summer  to  tend  to  things.  I  used 
to  think  that  when  Robin  grew  up  and  I  was  old,  he  M 
take  over  the  management  of  the  ranch.  But  seems  it  's 
not  to  be.  The  farm  that  gave  him  a  home  when  he  had 
n't  none,  but  was  just  a  homeless  young  one  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  is  the  last  thing  he  thinks  of  now.  You  can 
see  for  yourself." 

Gret  glanced  round  critically.  Just  immediately  round 
the  house  was  spick  and  span  and  carefully  kept;  Mrs. 
Bennett  saw  to  that.  But  farther  than  that  a  general  air 
of  negligence  pervaded  the  place.  Gret's  lip  curled  in- 
sensibly. Robin  always  was  a  fool,  always  had  been  lazy, 
too,  for  that  matter ;  of  duty  Gret  did  not  think  in  connec- 
tion with  Robin.  In  reality,  she  reflected,  the  loss  that 
seemed  imminent  would  serve  him  just  about  right,  and 
no  more.  He  had  invited  it,  and  he  richly  deserved  it. 
But  Robin  had  been  a  playmate  and  regarded  her  as  a 
friend,  and  it  was  against  her  nature  to  see  him  sup- 
planted by  an  alien  to  the  family,  however  just  such  a 
consummation  might  be,  without  at  least  giving  timely 
warning.  She  concluded  her  rapid  survey  of  the  sur- 
roundings. 

''You  're  right,"  she  said  laconically,  with  a  glance  at 
the  old  man. 

"Oh  well,  you  see  it  's  like  this,"  said  Mrs.  Bennett  in 
an  apologetic  way.  "Some  people  just  naturally  don't 
like  the  country  and  ranching  and  such  like,  and  some 
does.  Robin  don't  like  the  country ;  never  did.  He  never 
took  interest  in  it  and  never  could.  He  's  not  to  blame. 
It  's  just  the  way  people  are  born,  I  suppose." 

"Certainly,"  agreed  old  Start  with  a  smile.  "It  's  the 
way  they  're  born.  Some  are  born  shiftless  and  good  for 
nothing  and  some  ain't." 

"Now,  I  '3  just  pine  to  death  in  a  town,"  went  on  the 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  179 

widow,  gazing  thoughtfully  out  across  the  orchard.  "It  's 
what  I  've  kept  on  working  and  put  by  my  little  savings 
for— just  so  I  could  maybe  buy  me  a  little  place  out  here 
in  the  quiet  when  I  get  old— real  old.  But  as  for  Robin," 
she  went  on  more  briskly,  *'his  ambition  's  not  that 
way;  that  's  all.  He  just  wants  to  go  and  be  a  business 
man." 

*'The  sooner  the  better,"  observed  Start. 

"That  's  what  I  say,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bennett,  with  an  in- 
quiring glance  at  Gret.  "Let  him  go  all  nice  and 
friendly-like.  There  is  n't  no  work  here  but  what  can  be 
hired  done.  There  's  no  occasion  to  feel  badly  about  it. 
The  boy  's  not  to  blame.  His  heart 's  not  here  with  us  old 
folks  and  the  old  ranch.  That  's  only  natural.  Old  folks 
just  want  to  be  quiet  and  comfortable,  but  young  folks 
are  ambitious." 

"That  's  right."  Gret  smiled  assent,  her  eyes  resting 
on  the  suave  widow's  face.  She  was  doing  her  work 
with  a  very  fair  amount  of  artistic  perception.  Possibly 
she  was  overdoing  it  a  little,  but  then  her  subjects  were 
not  discriminating.  Gret  wondered  rather  that  she  had 
not  before  discerned  the  latent  diplomatic  possibilities  in 
this  woman.  There  was  a  time — and  Gret  smiled  to  her- 
self to  think  of  it— when  she  might  have  had  to  cross  dip- 
lomatic swords  with  the  crafty  widow  herself.  She  won- 
dered which  would  have  come  off  victor. 

As  it  was,  knowing  all  she  wished  to  know,  she  now 
prepared  to  gracefully  withdraw. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going,"  she  observed,  draw- 
ing her  feet  together  on  the  step  and  carefully  inspecting 
a  short  rip  on  the  front  of  one  of  her  shoes. 

"Oh,  what  's  the  hurry?  Stay  and  have  some  supper 
with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Bennett. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  but  I  can't  stay,"  replied  Gret,  rising 
and  smiling  very  pleasantly.    "I  've  got  to  hurry  back  to 


i8o  GRET 

the  camp  to  tell  Jake  about  putting  up  lunches  for  to- 
morrow.   And  then  after  that  Eva  wants  me." 

"Oh,  well,  then,  of  course—"  agreed  Mrs.  Bennett 
smilingly.     "Come  up  again,  Gret." 

"I  will."  Gret  nodded  in  a  friendly  way.  Indeed,  she 
really  did  not  feel  the  slightest  personal  animosity  in  the 
case.  She  did  not  blame  Widow  Bennett  at  all.  It  was  a 
business  deal  all  the  way  through,  and  the  race  was  to 
him  that  could.  She  stepped  down  on  to  the  walk  and 
then  paused.  "Please  tell  Robin  when  he  comes  home 
that  I  said  to  be  in  camp  to-morrow  at  half  past  seven." 

The  indifference  fell  from  her  face  for  a  moment,  and 
the  "I  said"  had  a  strange  ring  of  power  and  command. 
Mrs.  Bennett  glanced  up  in  involuntary  surprise;  and 
then  Gret  added  with  a  little  laugh,  "I  'd  hate  to  see  those 
lovely  berries  spoil,  and  I  can't  pick  enough  for  you  and 
Jake  and  Lizzie." 

"Of  course  not,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bennett  immediately. 
"I  '11  be  sure  and  tell  him." 

"All  right,  then.  Good-by."  And  with  a  parting  smile 
to  each  of  the  unsuspecting  subjects  of  her  investigation, 
Gret  departed  through  the  orchard  and  up  the  river. 

Supper  was  partly  over  as  Gret  entered  the  camp  and 
took  her  usual  seat  on  Dick's  right  hand.  Dick  looked 
up  from  wholesale  consumption  of  baked  potatoes  and 
smiled,  and  Oly  voiced  a  sentiment  with  his  mouth  full  of 
the  same. 

"Thought  you  were  n't  going  to  take  supper  with  us 
any  more,  Gret." 

"Why?"  inquired  that  lady  calmly. 

"Been  two  weeks  since  you  did." 

"Just  nine  days,"  with  an  air  of  exactness. 

"Well,  that  's  just  the  same,"  grumbled  Oly. 

"You  won't  think  so  if  you  ever  come  to  pay  rent  every 
two  weeks,"  chuckled  Cassidy. 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED  i8i 

"Would  n't  think  so  if  he  got  paid  for  nine  days  instead 
of  two  weeks,  either,"  added  Gret,  looking  up.  As  she  did 
so  she  noticed  Jake  standing  in  the  doorway  eying  her 
with  inquiring  gaze.  Guessing  the  inquiry  in  his  mind, 
she  smiled,  and  immediately  her  mind  went  back  to  the 
Orchards.  Doubtless  Mrs.  Bennett  had  got  supper,  too, 
by  this,  and  was  ministering  to  her  master's  wants  with 
watchful  care.  The  only  thing  that  annoyed  Gret  about 
the  whole  matter  was  the  maturity  of  it.  Right  in  her 
immediate  proximity,  yet  without  her  even  suspecting  its 
existence,  had  this  thing  hatched  out  and  grown  to  full 
perfection. 

"I  wish,"  she  said  with  a  little  snap,  and  speaking  from 
the  depths  of  her  soliloquy,  'T  wish  I  were  a  spider." 

Dick  looked  up  from  his  plate,  and  Oly's  hand,  on  its 
way  to  the  potato  bowl,  paused  midway.  ''Why?"  came 
in  chorus. 

"Then  I  'd  have  eyes  that  would  look  front  and  back- 
wards and  sideways  and  all." 

Most  of  the  men  within  hearing  chuckled,  and  Dick 
smiled  broadly.  "I  think  your  eyes  about  manage  that 
already,  Gret,"  he  observed. 

Gret's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile.  She  reflected  that  to 
those  in  ignorance  of  the  trend  of  her  deliberations  the 
remark  just  made  might  appear  a  trifle  eccentric.  She 
vouchsafed  no  explanations,  however,  but  went  on  with 
her  meal,  on  her  face  a  queer,  half  humorous,  half  piqued 
expression. 

After  dinner  Gret  went  and  seated  herself  on  the  bench 
outside  the  cook-house  door,  where  she  was  soon  joined 
by  Jake. 

"Well?"  interrogated  he. 

Gret  nodded.  "It  's  all  right.  You  'd  got  it  down 
right  enough." 

In  view  of  this  frank  admission  of  his  penetration  and 


i82  GRET 

acumen  Jake  refrained  from  any  self-laudatory  remarks, 
and  awaited  further  statements. 

"And  I  11  tell  you,  Jake,"  went  on  Gret  with  that  grim 
narrowing  of  the  eyes,  "if  Rob  were  to  lose  that  place 
root  and  tree  it  would  be  no  more  than  right.  It  's  just 
a  shame  the  way  he  's  neglecting  things  now  the  old 
man  's  sick." 

Jake  nodded.  "That  's  what  I  think.  Better  just  let  it 
go." 

"Oh,  no!"  demurred  Gret.  "He  may  have  sense 
enough  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  when  he  sees  how  things 
are  going.  If  he  does  n't  after  we  We  shown  him,  then 
it 's  his  fault." 

Then  she  rose  deliberately.  "Well,  I  must  go.  Eva 
wants  me.  Oh,  say,  Jake,  I  was  almost  forgetting,"  turn- 
ing back.  "I  want  you  to  put  up  six  lunches  for  to-mor- 
row.   Will  you?" 

"Six,"  ejaculated  Jake. 

"Yes.  All  the  mill-house  folks  are  going  berrying  to- 
morrow." 

"Land— six!"    Jake  shook  his  head. 

"I  '11  get  up  real  early  and  help,"  said  Gret  coaxingly. 
"I  '11  cut  all  the  sandwiches,  Jake." 

Jake  smiled.  "Well,  guess  I  've  got  enough  pie,"  he 
said  then,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation. 

"Oh,  yes.  We  '11  make  out,"  said  Gret  confidently. 
"Well,  I  '11  be  down  early  in  the  morning,  Jake,"  she  said 
finally,  and  with  a  nod  of  adieu  went  out  of  the  kitchen. 

She  went  home  and  lay  on  the  bluff  with  Eva  and  the 
lovely  book.  The  river  flowed  in  molten  light,  speared 
across  with  lengthening  pine  shadows ;  and  Robin  and  the 
Orchards  and  the  blackberrying  and  all  things  trouble- 
some whatsoever  were  put  on  one  side  and  forgotten  as  if 
they  had  never  been. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  day's  enjoyment 

VERY  early  in  the  morning  Gret  awoke ;  the  sunlight 
was  streaming  across  the  floor,  and  the  room  was 
full  of  the  moist  dawn,  odorous  with  the  breath  of  pines 
and  plants.  She  sat  up  and  gave  a  little  sigh  of  pure  de- 
light ;  then  she  sprang  up  and  going  to  the  window  leaned 
out.  The  rose  mists  lay  deep  among  the  pines,  and  the 
river  wound  in  and  out  a  thread  of  palest  blue. 

Gret  drew  her  head  in  and  dressed,  her  soul  rising  in 
glee  within  her.  She  was  a  lion  refreshed,  and  the  world 
was  not  wide  enough  for  her  to  conquer. 

When  the  blackberrying  toilet  was  complete,  she  crept 
down  the  lean-to  roof,  leaped  to  the  ground,  and  was  off 
like  a  deer  for  the  camp. 

Arrived  at  the  camp,  she  found  Jake  and  Charlie  busy 
with  breakfast  preparations.  And  so  Gret  busied  herself 
cutting  a  pile  of  thinly  sliced  bread  ready  for  the  sand- 
wiches. 

A  little  before  eight  o'clock  Robin  arrived  at  the  camp. 
The  expression  on  his  face  could  hardly  be  construed  into 
one  of  pleased  anticipation ;  apparently  the  idea  of  a  day's 
blackberrying  with  Gret  no  longer  held  the  charm  it  had 
in  days  of  yore.  Gret  marked  the  expression,  but  did 
not  choose  to  take  open  note  of  it.  Instead  she  was  very 
gracious,  and  hailed  him  in  terms  of  good  fellowship. 

''Hallo,  Robbie  !  So  Mother  Bennett  told  you  to  come." 

"Oh,  yes.  She  was  bound  she  'd  have  those  berries," 
said  Robin  a  trifle  discontentedly.  "There  was  no  getting 
out  of  it." 

Z83 


i84  GRET 

"Well,  did  you  want  to  ?"  inquired  Gret  brightly.  "All 
the  mill  folks  are  going.  Why,  I  just  thought  you  'd  like 
to  go." 

''Oh,  are  they  ?"    Robin  looked  more  interested.    "Oh !" 

"Yes ;  Miss  Vibart,  too,"  said  Gret,  with  eyes  gleaming 
mockery  and  amusement. 

"Oh!"  Robin's  face  brightened  amazingly.  "Where 
are  you  going,  Gret?  Mother  Bennett  said  you  had  a 
splendid  patch  somewhere  or  other." 

"I  have ;  berries  as  big  as  that,"  and  Gret  illustrated  with 
her  thumb  and  finger  a  berry  about  as  big  as  a  good-sized 
bantam  egg.  "You  know  the  mountain  back  of  Murray's 
camp?"  Robin  nodded.  "Well,  the  vv^est  side  of  that. 
It  's  covered  with  salal — deep  salal,  too — and  that  keeps 
the  berries  from  drying  up.    They  're  just  thick  there." 

Robin  nodded  his  comprehension.  "But  can  Miss  Vi- 
bart get  along  among  stuff  like  that,  do  you  suppose  ?"  he 
inquired. 

Gret's  lips  slowly  melted  into  a  smile  of  the  broadest 
possible  dimensions.  "That  's  what  we  shall  see!"  she 
said. 

Robin  looked  up  into  the  eyes  dancing  with  fun,  and 
his  soul  expanded  as  of  old.  Here  once  more  was  the  girl 
who  had  been  wont  to  go  into  ecstasies  of  silent  laughter 
when  he  fell  off  a  log,  or  stubbed  his  toe  when  his  pail 
was  full  of  berries;  whose  dancing  feet  he  had  followed 
from  childhood  alike  in  willingness  and  reluctance,  and 
alike  to  his  profit  or  undoing.  His  face  relaxed  into  one 
of  the  old  comprehensive  grins. 

"I  guess  it  will  be  funny,  all  right !"  he  observed. 

More  punctually  than  Gret  had  altogether  expected,  the 
mill-house  party  arrived,  variously  attired  according  to 
their  varied  conceptions  of  the  task  in  hand.  Gret  scanned 
Maude's  appearance  with  considerable  interest.  As  far 
as  that  lady  could  possibly  judge  of  the  expedition  about 


A  DAY'S  ENJOYMENT  185 

to  be  entered  upon  it  was  the  perfection  of  good  sense 
and  taste;  but  Gret's  experienced  eye  detected  several 
pitfalls.  The  wide-brimmed  straw  sailor  was  all  right, 
as  was  also  the  plain  but  dainty  gown  of  blue  linen ;  but 
the  starched  white  collar  was  a  vanit\  that  would  soon 
wither  away,  and  the  stout-soled  walking-shoes,  which 
Maude  in  view  of  the  rough  nature  of  the  ground  to  be 
covered  had  considered  the  best,  were  badly  chosen  see- 
ing that  the  main  foothold  in  the  dense  brush  and  seas  of 
salal  would  be  on  fallen  timber.  On  the  other  hand, 
Maude  surveyed  Gret  in  much  secret  surprise,  from  the 
wide  straw  hat,  conical-crowned  and  innocent  of  trim- 
ming and  faded  waist  whose  loose  collar-band  was  left  in 
its  simplicity,  to  the  thinnest  of  old  shoes. 

Gret  solemnly  presented  each  of  the  men  with  a  ten- 
pound  lard-pail,  in  which  was  his  lunch.  She  herself  car- 
ried two  pails,  one  within  the  other,  as  did  also  Robin. 
Maude  was  given  a  five-pound  pail,  as  being  probably 
equal  to  any  demand  she  might  put  upon  it. 

To  begin  with,  the  way  lay  up  the  skid-road,  and  upon 
this  Robin  and  Gret  jumped  with  the  ease  of  long  ac- 
quaintanceship. Maud  was  helped  up,  and  the  other  men 
followed  with  more  or  less  enthusiasm.  And  here  hap- 
pened the  first  of  Maude's  disasters.  Observing  the  ease 
of  Gret's  progress.  Miss  Vibart  essayed  the  balancing  act 
herself  with  much  confidence,  and  promptly  collapsed 
with  a  little  screech  between  the  big  sleepers.  She  was 
helped  out,  and  then  decided  to  walk  alongside  the  road, 
over  the  baked  mud  and  clumps  of  bramble  and  brush. 
Ludlowe  and  Massinger  walked  with  her  and  all  went 
well,  except  that  the  band-snakes,  sunning  themselves  in 
harmless  abandon,  were  the  source  of  many  sudden  stop- 
pages and  much  screaming.  Robin  and  Gret  balanced  and 
pirouetted  along  a  little  way  ahead,  taking  in  the  whole 
proceedings  with  joyous  appreciation. 


i86  GRET 

From  the  top  of  the  canon  Murray's  trail  was  struck, 
and  after  this  every  one  got  along  famously.  Maude  re- 
covered from  her  mishap  of  the  skid-road,  and,  helped  on 
her  way  by  ready  gallantry,  decided  that  expeditions  into 
the  brush  were  exactly  to  her  taste. 

The  ground  to  which  Gret  conducted  her  party  was  the 
lower  western  slope  of  a  hill  leading  into  a  shallow  ravine. 
Over  the  inevitable  fallen  timber  with  which  the  ages  had 
latticed  the  side  of  the  hill  the  salal  grew  into  a  smooth 
green  sea,  out  of  which  stood  clumps  of  buckle-  and  sal- 
mon-berry bushes,  dogwood  and  hazel.  At  the  edge  of  it 
Gret  called  a  halt  to  empty  the  buckets. 

"Would  n't  think  it  would  be  a  good  berry-patch 
at  all,  would  you  ?"  observed  Robin,  surveying  it  critically. 

*'No,  but  it  is— fine,"  replied  Gret.  "They  're  all  among 
the  salal— big,  juicy  ones.  And  I  '11  tell  you,"  she  added 
with  a  knowing  nod,  "there  are  places  where  you  can  drop 
off  a  log  six  feet  into  the  salal  if  you  want  to." 

Robin  shut  one  eye  in  a  prodigious  wink.  The  schemes 
of  maturity  were  all  forgotten  for  the  moment,  and  he 
was  a  mischievous  boy  again. 

The  luncheon  supplies  were  stacked  in  a  shady  holk)w 
beneath  a  thick  clump  of  bushes,  and  the  group  went  glee- 
fully to  work.  Before  allowing  her  to  start  off  into  the 
salal,  however,  Gret  took  Maude  by  the  hand  and  led  her 
to  the  foot  of  a  thick  tangle  of  brier  and  bush.  She  lifted 
the  growth,  and  displayed  to  that  uninitiated  lady  a  clus- 
ter of  shining  blue-black  berries.  Maude  gave  a  little  coo 
of  delight,  and  sitting  down  began  to  pick  with  enthusi- 
asm. Ludlowe,  observing  the  comparative  ease  of  the  sit- 
uation, came  and  seated  himself  by  her  side  and  also  be- 
gan to  lazily  transfer  a  few  of  the  berries  from  the  parent 
bush  to  his  pail.  Bobbie  and  Massinger  prospected  cau- 
tiously along  the  timber  into  the  salal,  and  Gret  went  back 
to  Robin,  who  stood  waiting  for  her. 


A  DAY'S  ENJOYMENT  187 

"That  '11  get  the  berry  fever  up,"  said  he,  indicating  by 
a  bend  of  the  head  Maude  and  her  patch. 

Gret  nodded,  and  struck  off  down  a  slender  prostrate 
tree,  followed  by  Robin.  Half-way  down  she  paused  and, 
parting  the  salal  and  bramble  that  grew  over  the  rotting 
bark,  disclosed  clusters  of  berries.  "You  see,"  she 
said  contentedly,  "we  could  fill  a  water-pail  if  we  wanted 
to." 

"Yes,  could  n't  we?"  agreed  Robin,  seating  himself 
astride  the  tree  and  beginning  to  pick.  "Funny  we  never 
found  this  patch  before,  all  these  years." 

"Well,  it  's  out  of  the  way  we  always  went  to  berry," 
rejoined  Gret,  seating  herself  carefully.  "I  just  happened 
on  it  coming  down  from  Molalla  one  day." 

"Been  up  to  Molalla  lately,  then?"  inquired  Robin. 
Gret  nodded. 

"Alone?" 

"No,"  nodding  her  head  in  Massinger's  direction.  "He 
was  with  me." 

Robin  scanned  Massinger's  tall,  slight  figure  critically. 
"Rather  taken  up  with  him,  are  n't  you  ?" 

Gret  looked  up,  a  berry  held  to  her  lips.  "Why,  I  like 
him— yes.  No  one  could  very  well  help  that;  he  's  so 
good." 

"Should  n't  have  thought  the  goody-goody  kind  would 
have  taken  you  at  all,"  went  on  Robin  thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  exactly  know  what  you  mean  by  'taken  me,'  " 
said  Gret  with  a  laugh.  "You  can't  help  liking  a  person 
who  always  thinks  of  every  one  else  before  himself,  and 
is  kind  and  fair  to  everything.  Besides,  he  likes  to  rove 
all  about  just  as  I  do.  I  'm  not  taken  any  further  than 
that." 

"Think  you  ever  will  really  like  anybody?"  wondered 
Robin,  looking  curiously  into  the  girl's  unmoved  face. 

Gret  chuckled— a  mere  little  grunt  of  discontent  and 


i88  GRET 

scorn.  "I  don't  think  I  '11  ever  like  anything  that  '11  like 
me,"  she  replied  oracularly. 

Robin  was  silent  a  moment,  and  Gret  suddenly  changed 
the  subject. 

"Uncle  Start  was  telling  me  yesterday  that  you  thought 
of  going  to  Portland." 

The  look  of  mischievous  ciiriosity  vanished  instantane- 
ously from  Robin's  face  and  he  glanced  quickly  and  fur- 
tively at  his  companion. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  carelessness. 

She  nodded.  "Very  good  idea,  I  should  think,"  in  a 
voice  of  no  particular  interest;  "because  you  never  did 
like  ranching  really,  did  you  ?" 

"No,  never  did,"  agreed  Robin,  brightening  immedi- 
ately as  he  saw  no  opposition  was  likely  to  be  forthcom- 
ing.   "The  old  man  's  sore  about  it,  though,  is  n't  he  ?" 

"Oh— said  he  'd  have  to  hire  the  work  done,"  said  Gret 
evasively. 

"Well,  that  's  the  best  thing.  Don't  you  think  so?" 
asked  Robin  quickly. 

"Of  course.  You  don't  do  the  work,  and  what  's  the 
good  of  keeping  some  one  else  out  of  it,"  agreed  Gret  in 
a  matter-of-fact  way.  "I  'm  only  surprised  you  did  n't 
both  come  to  some  agreement  of  that  sort  a  long  time 
ago." 

"Did  you  tell  uncle  that  ?"  inquired  Robin  eagerly.        • 

"Oh,  forget  now  what  I  did  say— something  of  the 
kind,"  replied  the  girl.  "It  's  none  of  my  business  any- 
way. When  are  you  going?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  Cecil  can  get  me  a  place,"  explained 
Robin  eagerly.  "You  see,  just  now,  in  the  middle  of  the 
summer,  it  's  very  quiet  in  the  dry-goods  business;  but 
just  as  soon  as  fall  sets  in  business  picks  up,  and  then 
they  put  more  clerks  on.  Cecil  says  he  's  sure  he  can  get 
me  a  position  in  his  store." 


A  DAY'S  ENJOYMENT  189 

"Won't  that  be  nice?"  sympathized  Gret.  "And  then 
Cecil  can  show  you  what  to  do  and  all  that." 

"Of  course.  He  '11  put  me  next  to  everything,"  said 
Robin,  delighted  with  such  ready  comprehension. 

"Do  vou  think  you  '11  like  to  live  in  town?"  queried 
Gret. 

"Will  I  ?"  echoed  Robin,  his  whole  face  beaming  with 
enthusiasm.  "You  see,"  he  went  on  confidentially,  "I  '11 
learn  the  dry-goods  business,  and  then— then,  some  day 
I  '11  go  in  business  for  myself  and  have  Cecil  with  me. 
See  ?  As  Cecil  says,  it  would  n't  do  to  go  into  a  business 
you  knew  nothing  about." 

"Of  course  not,"  acquiesced  Gret  amiably,  as  she  turned 
away  to  reach  for  a  trailing,  well-laden  bramble. 

About  fifty  feet  away,  picking  with  great  deliberation, 
and,  as  far  as  Bobbie  was  concerned  at  all  events,  chatter- 
ing at  double  the  speed,  were  Bobbie  and  Massinger. 
Maude  having  embarked  on  a  fallen  tree,  piloted  by  Gret, 
glanced  round  contentedly,  and  then  stooping  began  to 
pick  the  berries  lying  across  the  trunk. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said  to  Robin,  who  was  v/ithin  speak- 
ing distance,  "one  can  walk  anywhere  here — no  swamp  or 
anything  of  that  kind  ?"  And  she  looked  critically  at  the 
smooth,  inviting  expanse  of  salal. 

"Oh,  yes,"  responded  Robin  in  tones  of  deep  assurance ; 
"the  ground  is  all  just  as  dry  and  hard  as  can  be." 

He  never,  as  he  afterward  assured  Gret,  expected  such 
immediate  results  to  follow  his  words.  But  Miss  Vibart 
decided  to  prospect  farther  round  the  cluster  of  berries 
she  was  at  present  dealing  with.  Rising,  she  picked  up 
her  pail  and  stepped  forward.  There  was  a  shriek,  a 
shower  of  berries  in  the  air,  and  Miss  Vibart  vanished 
from  mortal  ken. 

Robin,  in  reality  paralyzed  past  all  usefulness  by 
laughter,  ran  to  the  brink  and  peered  into  the  salal,  which 


igo  GRET 

had  closed  peacefully  over  the  spot ;  and  Ludlowe,  Arthur 
and  Bobbie  hastened  thither  as  fast  as  uncertain  foothold 
would  allow.  Together,  with  much  acclaim,  they  rescued 
the  vanished  one  from  her  leafy  grave,  physically  none 
the  worse  for  her  experience,  but  considerably  ruffled  in 
spirit  and  attire. 

Gret  all  this  time  remained  quietly  seated  some  distance 
up  the  log,  apparently  unnoticing  and  entirely  engrossed 
with  the  berry-picking.  But  when,  about  ten  minutes 
afterward,  she  had  so  far  recovered  from  her  fit  of  si- 
lent laughter  as  to  be  able  to  sit  up  once  more,  she  felt  the 
smooth,  long  fingers  of  a  man's  hand  slip  under  her  chin, 
and  her  face  was  raised  to  meet  the  quizzical  eyes  of  Er- 
rol  Ludlowe. 

"Ah!"  said  that  gentleman  calmly.  "I  thought  as 
much." 

Presently  Maude,  better  instructed  as  to  how  to  walk 
amidst  salal  brush,  and  encouraged  by  much  sympathy 
and  the  contributions  of  berries  from  other  pails  to  make 
up  for  the  loss  of  her  own,  started  afresh  on  her  career 
as  a  berry-picker.  She  considered  Robin  the  prime  agent 
of  her  disaster,  and  told  him  so. 

"You  said  I  could  walk  anywhere,"  she  observed  in  of- 
fended tones. 

"So  you  can,"  returned  Robin  in  injured  accents.  "The 
ground  is  quite  dry  and  hard.  But  I  supposed  you  'd  get 
down  off  the  log  first,  and  not  try  to  walk  on  the  top  of 
the  salal."    And  Maude  was  silenced. 

Gret  sat  on,  automatically  picking  berries,  but  with  her 
thoughts  on  other  things.  The  touch  of  fingers  was  still 
about  her  throat  and  chin,  shaping  into  other  channels 
the  mood  that  had  beforetime  been  so  mirthful.  The 
smile  on  her  lips  was  half  reflective,  half  comprehensive, 
and  faintly  sweet. 

When  the  party  returned  to  the  camp  that  night,  Jake 


A  DAY'S  ENJOYMENT  191 

invited  them  all  to  be  seated  in  the  dining-hall  while  he 
prepared  for  them  a  quick  repast,  the  camp  dinner  being 
long  since  over.  The  mill-house  people,  not  having  been 
able  to  set  any  definite  time  for  their  return,  and  not, 
therefore,  expecting  anything  to  be  in  readiness  for  them 
at  the  mill,  accepted  the  invitation,  and  the  whole  berry 
party  sat  down  together  to  supper.  Afterward  the  mill 
people  took  their  berries  and,  with  many  thanks  to  the 
graciously  smiling  Jake,  went  home  rejoicing. 

Robin  did  not  happen  to  come  into  the  camp  for  several 
days;  but  finally  Gret  walked  casually  into  the  cook- 
house one  afternoon  to  find  him  there  with  Jake. 

Gret  did  not,  of  course,  expect  Robin  to  take  with  any 
degree  of  pleasure  the  information— or  suspicions— to  be 
imparted  to  him,  but  she  was  hardly  prepared  for  the 
state  of  rage  in  which  she  found  him.  His  face  was  red, 
and  it  seemed  to  the  amused  girl  that  his  hair  fairly  stood 
on  end. 

"I  tell  you,  Robin,"  Jake  was  saying  in  kindly  tones, 
"it  's  none  of  my  business.  I  don't  care  which  of  you 
gets  the  ranch.  Only  I  kind  of  hate  to  see  you  make  such 
a  fool  of  yourself— if  you  don't  know  it,  that  is.  But 
don't  you  take  my  word  for  it— or  Gret's  either.  Just 
you  go  home  and  keep  your  eyes  peeled,  and  you  '11  soon 
see  for  yourself." 

Here  Gret  entered  the  field.  "Yes,"  she  laughed,  "he 
will.  And  just  as  soon  as  he  sees  anything  that  points  to 
what  we  say  being  true,  he  '11  jump  up  and  come  down  on 
Widow  Bennett  with  all  four  feet  and  row  with  his 
uncle." 

"Well,  it  's  all  off  with  him  if  he  does,"  said  Jake  posi- 
tively. 

"Yes,  and,  besides,  if  old  lady  Bennett  ever  finds  out 
that  Rob  is  on  to  her  game  she  '11  quietly  find  some  other 
way  of  fixing  him,"  added  Gret. 


192  GRET 

"Sure,"  agreed  Jake  amiably.  "There  's  more  ways 
than  one  of  killing  a  cat  always." 

"I  won't  say  anything,"  said  Robin,  his  eyes  full  of  a 
sullen  rage;  "but  I  'm  just  going  right  home  and  watch. 
I  believe  you  've  got  on  the  wrong  street  altogether.  But 
I  '11  soon  see." 

"That  's  right,"  assented  Jake.  "You  will— mighty 
soon,  too,  now  your  eyes  are  open ;  that  is,  unless  you  're 
a  bigger  fool  than  I  take  you  for.  And  say,  Rob,"  as  that 
gentleman  turned  to  the  door,  "when  you  've  made  up 
your  mind,  come  and  tell  us." 

Robin  nodded,  and  went  out,  slowly  and  almost  deject- 
edly. He  was  enraged  to  the  heart's  core,  and  though  on 
the  whole  unbelieving,  yet  secretly  very  considerably 
startled.  He  had  been,  as  usual,  chasing  just  the  one  idea 
to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  At  the  same  time, 
though  rash  and  unthinking  in  a  general  way,  he  was  not 
by  any  means  a  fool.  When  he  did  actually  get  down  to 
the  consideration  of  a  matter,  he  was  usually  able  to  see 
pretty  well  on  all  sides  of  it.  Indeed,  he  was  crafty  by 
nature,  and,  although  the  impulsive  streak  in  his  composi- 
tion generally  bent  alike  his  energies  and  his  craft  in  one 
channel  at  a  time,  yet  by  the  insight  thus  afforded  him  he 
was  well  able  both  to  measure  the  craftiness  of  another 
and  to  meet  it  on  equal  grounds.  By  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  Orchards  he  had  reviewed  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  widow's  actions  of  late,  and  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  Jake  might 
easily  be  right  in  his  surmises.  But  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  that  his  uncle  would  ever  will  the  well- 
beloved  ranch,  upon  which  his  life's  labors  had  been 
spent,  out  of  the  family  and  to  a  woman. 

During  the  following  week  he  worked  closely  about  the 
farm,  and  no  move,  no  word,  on  the  part  of  either  the 
widow  or  his  uncle  escaped  him.    And  one  thing  he  did 


A  DAY'S  ENJOYMENT  193 

realize,  if  nothing  else,  and  that  was  the  depth  of  his  un- 
cle's dislike  and  disgust  for  himself.  And  on  the  strength 
of  this  alone  Robin  knew  it  would  never  do  to  go  away 
and  leave  the  place  unguarded  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Sadly  disappointed  and  dejected,  yet  once  more  in  his 
rig'ht  mind,  Robin  went  back  to  the  camp  one  morning  and 
confessed  that  Jake  was  right,  or  nearly  so,  forlornly  add- 
ing that  all  his  future  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground. 

Then  Jake  and  Gret  administered  much  consolation 
and  more  advice.  He  was  coached  to  the  last  detail  of 
his  procedure.  He  was  solemnly  adjured  not  for  anything 
to  let  the  widow  suspect  he  had  recognized  her  designs, 
but  to  still  talk  to  her  of  his  city  plans;  he  was  to  quietly 
set  to  work  and  bring  the  ranch  into  proper  shape,  being 
patient  and  courteous  to  his  uncle  in  the  face  of  anything 
and  everything;  and  he  was  to  begin,  when  the  widow 
was  not  present,  in  a  wisely  graduated  way  to  plan  with 
his  uncle  the  future  of  the  ranch. 

Robin  listened  resignedly,  but  heeded  withal.  Indeed, 
he  was  obliged  to  heed,  for,  when  all  was  said  and  done 
the  ranch  was  the  basis  of  even  his  dream  of  Portland. 
When  that  was  gone,  all  else  faded  with  it.  For  Robin 
was  quite  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  even  the  good 
friend  Cecil  would  be  very  much  less  of  a  friend  if  Robin 
came  to  him  merely  as  a  penniless  man  instead  of  as  one 
with  prospects  of  a  comfortable  start  in  life. 

There  was  no  help  for  it— nothing  to  do  but  stand  by 
his  post;  and  Robin  was  a  forlorn  being.  Time  would 
doubtless  shortly  supply  him  with  a  new  motive  for  living, 
with  the  necessary  something  to  pursue ;  but  just  now  he 
had  but  one  object  in  view,  and  that  was  the  undoing  of 
the  Widow  Bennett. 


13 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FAINT   SHAPES   OF  THE   FUTURE 

IT  was  a  surprising  thing  that  almost  every  one,  includ- 
ing those  who  from  their  fairly  correct  estimate  of  her 
character  should  have  known  better,  during  the  summer 
made  the  mistake  of  supposing  Gret  to  have  conceived  a 
more  or  less  decided  fancy  for  Arthur  Massinger,  and  he 
for  her.  The  very  unblushing,  matter-of-fact  openness  of 
her  monopoly  of  the  young  minister  should  have  been 
sufficient  disproof  to  those  who  in  other  ways  had  meas- 
ured fairly  well  the  intense  secretiveness  of  her  nature. 
But  it  seemed  it  was  not.  For  once  the  deductions  of  the 
various  and  in  the  main  kindly  observers  were  at  fault, 
and  a  general  mistake  obtained. 

Arthur  really  had  become  very  fond  of  the  girl,  it  is 
true;  and,  like  every  one  else  whom  Gret  towed  into  the 
strong  stream  of  her  personality,  had  come  to  be  almost 
unable  to  imagine  life  without  her ;  but  there  was  no  love, 
as  from  man  to  woman.  There  probably  never  had  been 
very  much  passion  in  Arthur's  physical  make-up,  and 
what  little  there  might  have  been  his  esthetic  life  and  prin- 
ciples had  gradually  eliminated.  But  he  had  turned  to 
Gret  as  the  strongest  and,  to  him,  most  inspiriting  per- 
sonality he  had  ever  met.  With  her  he  literally  forgot 
his  weakness.  It  seemed  to  him  that,  when  she  stood  be- 
fore him  in  that  intense,  conscious  delight  in  being  that 
was  one  of  her  great  charms,  and  breathed  one  of  her 
deep,  swelling  breaths,  she  actually  breathed  into  his  nos- 

«94 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  195 

trils  a  magnetic  vitality  that  carried  him  along  and  made 
him  forget  that  ever  there  was  a  weak  body  that  some- 
times failed  to  carry  out  the  demands  of  an  eager  spirit. 

And  as  for  Gret,  she  was  sorry  for  Massinger ;  and,  as 
she  had  truthfully  said  to  Robin,  she  recognized  the 
sweetness  and  beauty  of  his  disposition  and  sincerely  liked 
him.  None  could  well  be  with  him  and  help  that.  But 
love?  No!  Great  was  the  mistake  of  those  who  sup- 
posed that  Gret  would  love  and  carry  her  love  openly 
through  the  rounds  of  her  life  for  the  whole  world  to  see 
and  comment  on. 

And  then  Gret  was  very  much  taken  with  Arthur's  de- 
scription of  his  life-work  among  the  outcasts  of  society, 
and  her  sympathies  were  extended  instantly  and  unques- 
tioningly  to  the  women  whose  unhappiness  he  portrayed 
in  a  tender,  pitying  way.  He  spoke  of  them  always  as 
"poor  unfortunates,"  and  of  course  Gret  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  in  the  world  of  the  real  offense  of  these  wo- 
men against  that  society  which  cast  them  out  and  held 
them  at  bay.  She  took  them  to  be  poor,  homeless,  friend- 
less, sick— something  evidently  that  caused  them  to  be  in 
trouble  and  misery;  and  her  soul  rose  up  in  wrath  at  the 
more  fortunate  women  whom  Arthur  sometimes  sadly  de- 
picted as  thrusting  still  further  down,  and  ostracizing  still 
more  hopelessly,  their  fallen  sisters.  And  when  he  told 
her  of  the  difficulty  he  at  all  times  encountered  in  getting 
kind  and  helpful  housekeepers,  or,  indeed,  housekeepers 
of  any  kind,  on  account  of  contact  with  these  girls,  her 
disgust  was  simply  too  great  for  words.  She  had  at  once 
that  pity,  entirely  irrespective  of  caste  or  kind,  which  re- 
ligion alone  had  been  able  to  supply  to  Arthur  himself. 

Partly  because  she  would  not,  for  the  sake  of  the  love 
Arthur  evidently  bore  the  theme,  hurt  his  feelings  by  at- 
tacking it,  and  partly  because  she  encouraged  any  and 
every  discussion  that  gave  insight  into  his  and  other  men's 


196  GRET 

lives,  and  partly  because  of  a  certain  enjoyment  it  af- 
forded her,  Gret  heard  with  apparently  receptive  interest 
all  that  Arthur  ever  said  concerning  his  religion— the 
softly  uttered,  loving  praise  of  the  Divine  Master,  the 
faith  in  His  power  and  the  joy  in  His  service.  To  do  her 
justice,  she  was  artist  enough  to  recognize  the  beauty  of 
the  idea,  even  while  she  smiled  at  it  as  a  pretty  fable,  and 
Arthur's  finely  rounded,  tuneful  sentences  fell  on  appre- 
ciative ears.  But  that  was  all.  As  for  any  interest  in  re- 
ligion, or  any  idea  of  becoming  converted  thereto  herself, 
that  was  merely  one  of  the  grim,  secret  jokes  in  which 
Gret  reveled.  For  very  early  in  the  day  she  had  di- 
vined Arthur's  confident  hopes  of  winning  her,  through 
her  interest  and  sympathies,  for  the  service  of  the  God  he 
served :  and  it  amused  her  to  humor  him. 

Ludlowe  often  joined  Gret  and  Arthur  in  their  various 
expeditions  hither  and  thither,  and  was,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  thoroughly  amused  and  content  while  with  them. 
The  man  who,  in  a  society  gathering,  would  have  been 
bored  to  distraction,  and  who  was  so  unfeignedly  and 
really  tired  of  many  things  in  life,  with  these  two  entirely 
different  but  equally  sincere  beings  was  fairly  satisfied. 
Moreover,  Errol  Ludlowe  had,  fortunately  for  him, 
never  lost  his  love  for  nature.  The  moods  and  the  kinds 
of  his  fellow-men  had  become  a  matter  of  easy  arithme- 
tic ;  but  the  moods  and  the  ways  of  the  Great  Mother  were 
still  alluringly  above  and  beyond  him. 

And  then  Ludlowe  considered  Gret  a  most  unusually 
interesting  specimen  of  femininity,  whose  ultimate  devel- 
opment it  had  pleased  him  for  reasons  of  his  own  to  cal- 
culate to  a  nicety ;  and  being  interested,  he  was  therefore 
gracious  in  his  lazy,  caressing  way— a  fact  which,  to  Lud- 
lowe's  great  secret  amusement,  seemed  to  cause  Arthur 
some  slight  perturbation  of  heart.  Being  well  versed  by 
long  observation  as  to  the  general  results  of  any  attention 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  197 

to  women  from  Errol,  Arthur  grew  afraid  for  Gret,  and 
ventured  one  afternoon  to  gently  intercede  for  what  he 
considered  might  be  her  future  peace  of  mind. 

"Errol/'  he  smiled  at  the  end  of  a  period  of  reflection, 
and  glancing  affectionately  at  his  friend,  who  lay  prone 
on  the  moss  of  the  river,  "we  know  you  are  generally  not 
to  blame,  but  there  are  so  many  scalps  hanging  at  your 
belt.    Don't  add  Gret's." 

Ludlowe  raised  his  head  and  looked  hard  at  his  com- 
panion for  a  moment,  and  then  laughed.  "Why,  I  have 
n't  the  faintest  intention  of  trying  to  do  any  such  thing 
— as  collect  her  scalp."  His  head  dropped  back  on  the 
moss.  "Also  my  innate  modesty  leads  me  to  enter  a  pro- 
test against  your  statement." 

Arthur  smiled.  "You  never  do  'try'  to  do  anything  of 
the  kind,  but  we  know  what  frequently  happens  neverthe- 
less. Gret  is  no  society  flirt  and  weakling.  She  would 
suffer  hard  and  long." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you— if  she  ever  began  to  suffer," 
said  Ludlowe  coolly.  "But  falling  in  love  is  a  diversion 
in  which  Gret  will  indulge  only  when  all  other  forms  of 
amusement  fail,  or  I  am  much  mistaken.  Besides  all 
which,  she  appears  to  dislike  me — just  in  a  casual  way." 

Arthur  smiled,  a  faint,  unbelieving  smile.  "Yes?  But 
you  like  her,  don't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  yes— immensely,"  responded  Errol  promptly. 
"One  could  n't  help  it." 

And  in  that  he  spoke  the  truth  and  nothing  but  it.  He 
did  like  Gret— more  than  any  woman  he  knew.  It  was 
merely  liking  as  yet,  but  still  a  great  deal  for  Ludlowe  to 
extend  to  a  mere  chance  acquaintance  as  Gret  had  prom- 
ised to  be.  Very  few  women  had  ever  roused  any  greater 
liking,  very  few  even  as  much.  He  liked  that  downright, 
wholesome  quality  about  her  both  for  good  and  bad,  and 
the  compelling  egotism  that  went  straight  to  the  goal,  tak- 


198  GRET 

ing  heed  of  nothing  by  the  way.  He  knew  that  wherever 
Fate  placed  her  she  was  going  to  be  a  woman  to  be  reck- 
oned with,  and  he  watched  her  about  with  contemplative 
interest.  At  the  same  time  he  did  not  flatter  himself  that 
Gret  returned  his  liking.  He  did  not  see  that  she  had  any 
cause  to  dislike  him ;  but,  though  not  avoiding  him,  he  no- 
ticed that  she  never  sought  his  company.  And  for  this 
reason,  if  for  none  other,  out  of  the  pure  contradictori- 
ness  of  his  nature,  Errol  would  approach  her  on  all  con- 
venient occasions  and  exert  himself  to  be  entertaining— 
a  feat  that  for  a  man  of  such  classic  training  and  wide 
travel  and  experience  was  an  easy  matter,  of  course,  not- 
withstanding Gret's  peculiar  tastes.  He  early  discovered 
that  everything  presented  to  her  if  to  be  really  interesting 
and  acceptable,  must  be  fact,  or,  if  theory,  based  on  a  solid 
foundation  of  reason.  And  he  was  surprised,  too,  in  those 
early  days,  at  the  class  and  magnitude  of  the  subjects  that 
interested  her.  When  one  day  he  cursorily  explained  to 
her  such  atomic  laws  as  probably  governed  the  for- 
mation of  planets,  Gret  sat  right  down  and  dived  body 
and  soul  into  the  subject;  and  Ludlowe  was  kept  busy  for 
an  hour  or  more  explaining  laws  of  matter,  its  inde- 
structibleness,  probable  first  causes,  protoplasmic  theories, 
and  finally  the  latest  electric  theories  of  Hfe.  Gret  lis- 
tened, keen-eyed  and  open-souled,  and  when  one  of  the 
men  from  the  mill  approached  her  to  say  that  Mr.  Fonse- 
ker  would  greatly  like  to  see  her  in  that  flourishing  estab- 
lishment, she  came  to  the  earth  with  a  crash. 

But  notwithstanding  the  great  apparent  success  of  each 
and  every  conversation  held,  Gret  never  voluntarily 
sought  to  repeat  it;  and  Ludlowe  finally  concluded  that 
something  or  other  in  his  manner  must  repel  her.  But 
this  conclusion  did  not  alter  or  in  any  way  aflPect  his  pro- 
cedure. He  talked  to  her  whenever  he  felt  inclined  or  op- 
portunity presented,  and  his  manner,  careless,  indulgent, 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  199 

and  sometimes  faintly  imperative,  remained  the  same.  A 
faint,  puzzled  frown  would  sometimes  knit  Gret's  brow 
when  bidden,  in  a  quiet  voice  that  yet  left  no  room  for 
disobedience,  to  do  this  or  that  thing  which  previously  she 
had  either  decided  not  to  do  at  all  or  had  not  yet  con- 
sidered. She  could  not  see  any  particular  reason  for 
obeying,  and  yet  there  hardly  appeared  anything  else  to 
do.    So  she  generally  obeyed. 

"Come  here,  Gret,"  he  called  one  afternoon  from  his 
favorite  basking-spot  by  the  river's  brink,  having  ob- 
served that  young  lady  entering  a  boat  and  preparing  to 
row  down  stream.  He  probably  would  not  have  interrupted 
her  intention  but  that,  instead  of  rowing  swiftly  off  with 
her  usual  promptitude  of  action,  she  drew  the  oars  across 
her  knees  and  sat  quiet.  Ludlowe  could  not  see  her  face, 
only  a  bent  head  and  clear-cut  profile ;  but,  with  her  body 
leaning  slightly  over  the  oars  and  her  hands  lying  still 
upon  them,  she  was  a  beautiful  study  in  repose.  She 
woke  with  a  start  when  Ludlowe's  voice  reached  her  ear, 
and  turned  her  head  sharply  to  look  for  him.  He  bent  his 
head  and  smiled  slightly  in  repetition  of  his  command,  and 
Gret  got  out  of  the  boat  and  went  over  to  where  he  lay. 
She  stood  looking  questioningly  down  on  him,  and  he 
gazed  up  at  her  deliberately,  searching  in  her  face  for  any 
trace  of  the  thoughts  that  had  just  flown. 

"It  was  so  amazing  to  see  you  sitting  still  and  think- 
ing," he  observed,  "that  I  have  to  comment  upon  it.  What 
were  you  thinking  so  deeply  about?" 

Gret  smiled,  probably  at  the  idea  that  she  would  be  at 
all  likely  to  retail  her  thoughts  for  any  one's  benefit.  "Oh, 
of  all  sorts  of  things,"  she  replied. 

"Ever  tell  any  one  your  inmost  thoughts,  Gret?"  in- 
quired Ludlowe  amusedly.  "Ever  confide  in  any  one  at 
all?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  replied  Gret  carefully. 


200  GRET 

"Well,  I  mean,  have  you  any  one— a  friend— to  whom 
you  tell  everything  ?    Everything,  mind." 

"Of  course  not !"  with  a  prompt  laugh. 

Ludlowe  laughed,  too.  "I  thought  not.  Extraordi- 
nary girl !" 

"Why?"  asked  Gret.  "Does  any  one  ever  tell  every- 
thing?" 

"Certainly ;  most  women,"  calmly. 

Gret  smiled,  and  mentally  reviewed  some  of  the  fem- 
inine members  of  her  wide,  though  cursory,  acquaintance- 
ship. "Yes,  some  women  do  tell  quite  a  lot,"  she  admitted 
impartially ;  "but  not  everything." 

"Not  just  at  first,"  said  Ludlowe.  "Not  until  you  have 
been  bosom-friend  for  at  least  a  week.  But  sit  down, 
Gret.    Where  were  you  going  ?" 

"Down  to  the  mill." 

"Well,  everything  's  all  right  down  there,"  declared 
Ludlowe.  "I  overheard  Bobbie  say  before  I  came  up  here 
that  So-and-So's  order  would  go  out  to-morrow,  and 
somebody  else's  order  was  well  under  way,  and  that  he 
thought  they  would  be  able  to  get  some  one  else's  order 
out  this  week  after  all.  So  if  you  were  only  going  down 
to  give  business  advice  you  are  not  needed." 

Gret  smiled  at  the  not  very  lucid  account  of  business  af- 
fairs presented.  "I  don't  believe  you  'd  make  a  very  good 
business  man.  Do  you  ever  have  anything  to  do  with 
business— making  things  pay,  and  so  on?" 

"No.  Have  stewards  to  do  that,  thereby  accomplishing 
two  things :  getting  out  of  the  work  and  trouble  myself, 
and  giving  a  few  other  men  a  chance  to  live,  and  live 
easily.    Please  sit  down,  Gret." 

Gret  slowly  obeyed.  She  picked  up  a  pocket  edition  of 
Julius  Caesar  that  lay  on  the  sward  near  Ludlowe's  hand. 

"What  a  wee,  pretty  book,"  turning  over  appreciatively 
the  dainty  morocco-bound  trifle. 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  201 

"Yes— Shakspere.    Ever  read  Shakspere,  Gret?" 

"No ;  never  read  anything." 

"You  don't !"  surprised.  "Why,  I  thought  you  seemed 
to  be  quite  well-read." 

"Eva  reads,  and  tells  me  all  about  the  books  every 
night,"  explained  Gret.  • 

"I  see.    And  why  don't  you  read  for  yourself,  Gret?" 

"I  would  n't  have  patience.    Want  to  see  things." 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Ludlowe.  "Do  you 
mean  that  you  must  actually  see  to  believe,  or  that  you 
have  no  patience  to  read  because  you  want  to  be  out  and 
about  seeing  anything  and  everything  that  goes  on  ?" 

"Both,"  replied  Gret. 

"I  should  imagine,"  said  Ludlowe,  "that  you  M  make  a 
good  traveler.    Would  you  like  to  travel?" 

"Yes,  I  should,"  unhesitatingly.  "Have  you  traveled? 
I  don't  mean  just  from  one  town  to  another,  but  all  about 
the  world." 

"Oh,  yes." 

"But  you  're  not  doing  it  now." 

"No  ;  had  my  fill  of  it  years  ago.  In  fact,  I  came  pretty 
near  the  end  of  my  list;  saw  everything  worth  seeing." 

"How  quick  you  must  have  been,"  commented  Gret  sar- 
castically.   "Unless  the  world  's  a  very  small  place." 

Ludlowe  laughed.  "You  're  right.  I  merely  meant 
from  a  historical  or  sentimental  point  of  view." 

These  limitations  presented  no  very  lucid  idea  to  Gret, 
and  her  brows  wrinkled  slightly.  Ludlowe  saw  this  and 
explained  further. 

"You  see,  when  I  was  fresh  from  college  I  was  full,  of 
course,  of  book-lore.  With  the  histories  of  great  dead  peo- 
ples bright  in  my  mind,  I  naturally  went  to  view  the 
scenes  where  they  lived  and  fought  and  died,  and  in  many 
instances  the  ruins  they  left  behind  them.  That  is  histori- 
cal interest." 


202  GRET 

"Dead  peoples,"  repeated  Gret  reflectively. 

"Yes;  the  ancient  Egyptians,  ancient  Greeks,  Ro- 
mans—" 

"That  's  in  this  book— Romans,"  said  Gret,  with  her 
finger  on  the  little  Shakspere.  "I  saw  the  word  as  I 
picked  it  up." 

"No  doubt.    That  is  a  Roman  play." 

"What  did  they  do,  the  Romans  ?" 

"Many  things  in  their  time,"  smiling.  "They  were 
quite  energetic." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Gret  in  her  terse  way. 

And  Ludlowe  proceeded  to  tell,  very  ornately,  and  with 
probably  more  regard  to  effect  and  sentiment  than  strict 
historical  truth,  pressing  into  service  for  the  task  the  poet- 
historians  that  rose  readily  from  out  his  well-stored 
memory.  Gret  listened,  with  wide  eyes  and  quivering 
nostrils.  The  greater  the  fight,  the  greater  the  odds,  the 
keener  her  appreciation  and  interest.  She  was  a  born 
lover  of  a  struggle,  it  mattered  not  of  what  kind.  Lud- 
lowe laughed  to  himself  as  he  saw  this,  and  confined  his 
treatise  principally  to  the  most  strenuous  characters  and 
circumstances  of  Roman  history,  concluding  with  Macau- 
lay's  stirring  poem  on  that  most  intrepid  Roman,  Hora- 
tius,  the  "Keeper  of  the  Gate." 

Gret  went  through  the  fight  with  the  three  brave  men, 
and  stood  defiant  with  Horatius  on  the  farther  bank  of 
the  Tiber. 

"  'Now  yield  thee !'  cried  false  Sextus, 
With  a  smile  on  his  pale  face ;" 

Gret's  lip  curled,  and  Ludlowe  preserved  gravity  with 
great  difficulty. 

"  'Now  yield  thee !'  cried  Lars  Porsena, 
'Now  yield  thee  to  our  grace.'  " 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  203 

Gret  fairly  snorted  defiance,  and  Ludlowe  burst  out 
laughing. 

"I  knew  it!"  he  laughed.  "I  knew  you  were  some 
battle-scarred  old  Roman  reincarnated." 

"Go  on !"  commanded  Gret,  impatient  of  the  interrup- 
tion ;  and  Ludlowe  proceeded  to  take  Horatius  safely  back 
across  the  Tiber,  much  to  the  relief  of  his  listener. 

"Don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays,  do  they?"  she 
observed  at  the  conclusion,  returning  to  the  present  era 
with  a  sigh. 

"Well — no,  not  exactly.  There  is  n't  any  hand-to-hand 
fighting  done  nowadays.  It  's  done  with  machines,  like 
everything  else." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  there  are  any  men  who  could  fight 
like  that  now,  anyway,"  declared  Gret  contemptuously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Ludlowe  in  amused  pro- 
test. 

Gret  reviewed  rapidly  all  the  men  of  her  acquaintance 
and  found  them  wanting — most  of  them.  Ludlowe  di- 
vined her  thoughts  and  laughed  afresh. 

"They  may  be  rather  a  poor  set  of  specimens  that  you 
've  happened  to  meet,"  he  said  quizzically;  "but  do 
let  's  believe  that  there  are  yet  a  few  men  left  in  the 
world." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so— somewhere,"  unconsciously  crush- 
ing. She  rose,  then,  and  returned  with  a  little  sigh  to  the 
needs  of  the  present. 

"Where  to  now  ?"  inquired  Ludlowe. 

"To  dinner.    The  five-o'clock  whistle  's  gone." 

Ludlowe  drew  out  his  watch.  "By  Jove,  so  it  is.  The 
history  class  is  a  great  success  by  way  of  passing  time, 
even  if.it  does  call  into  derision  the  present  race  of  man- 
kind; eh,  Gret?" 

Gret  nodded,  and  Ludlowe  lazily  got  himself  up  from 
the  bank  and  stood  by  her  side.    "Well,  we  '11  take  the  an- 


204  GRET 

cient  Greeks  next  time,  and  weigh  the  case  of  Helen  and 
Paris  against  Antony  and  Cleopatra." 

"What  did  they  do?"  inquired  Gret  curiously,  stretch- 
ing one  foot  across  the  space  that  intervened  between  her 
boat  and  the  landing  and  drawing  the  boat  toward  her. 

'The  usual  thing,"  replied  Ludlowe,  preparing  to 
walk  on;  "only  distance  lends  enchantment.  Adieu, 
Gret." 

"Adieu,"  responded  Gret  gravely,  with  perfect  imita- 
tion of  his  accent. 

Gret  went  home  ana  discussed  across  the  dinner-table 
with  her  mother  and  Eva  the  merits  of  the  heroes  of  old 
as  compared  with  those  of  the  present.  Since  Eva  had 
become  so  pronounced  a  book-worm,  and  since  Gret, 
through  Eva,  had  become  fairly  conversant  with  bookish 
topics,  the  three  found  a  common  and  pleasant  meeting- 
ground.  And  though  Mrs.  Silway  had  never  attempted 
to  enter  into  Gret's  life  when  it  consisted  of  merely  girl- 
ish pranks  and  escapades,  yet  she  was  willing  and  glad  to 
discuss  with  the  two  girls,  and  hear  their  views  of,  subjects 
outside  their  own  lives.  Neither  did  she  wish  to  limit 
the  subjects  to  those  things  external  to  their  lives,  for  she 
always  enjoyed  listening  to  the  short  psychological  stud- 
ies of  local  thought  and  character  frequently  presented 
by  the  always  intensely  observant  Gret.  And  Mrs.  Sil- 
way was  quick  to  note  the  keen,  analytical  qualities  of  the 
elder  girl's  mind,  wondering  sometimes  how  far  it  would 
avail  her,  whose  future,  if  she  was  to  have  one,  must  evi- 
dently be  of  her  own  making. 

After  dinner  was  over  the  two  girls  and  the  jackdaw  re- 
paired to  the  bluff,  as  usual.  This  evening  Eva  had  a 
magazine  whose  leading  article,  "Famous  Types  of  Fe- 
male Beauty,  Past  and  Present,"  had  taken  her  attention 
for  the  time  being.  Though  not  caring  so  very  particu- 
larly for  them  herself,  Mrs.  Silway  had  taken  of  late 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  205 

years  to  requesting  that  copies  of  the  best  magazines  be 
included  ir  her  boxes  of  books. 

Gret  scanned  the  smiHng  beauties  on  the  pages  before 
her  with  severely  critical  eyes,  noting  keenly  each  point 
wherein  the  art  of  the  present  woman  improved  on  that 
of  the  beauty  of  the  past.  Neither  did  she  fail  to  observe 
that  the  big,  fluffy  pompadour,  falling  softly  over  one  side 
the  brow  of  the  most  famous  type  of  modern  American 
beauty,  was  that  night  faithfully  reproduced  in  Eva's 
pretty,  wavy  hair.  The  plain  cotton  shirt-waist,  too,  was 
pouched  gracefully  in  required  fashion  in  front,  and  at 
the  back  pulled  down  carefully  to  form  the  short  straight 
line.  Gret  was  slightly  amused  and  altogether  approving. 
She  considered  Eva  by  far  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  locality, 
or,  in  fact,  of  anything  she  had  ever  seen  in  the  way  of  a 
girl,  and  whatever  was  calculated  to  further  set  off  this 
undeniable  superiority  of  looks  was  both  justifiable  and 
advisable. 

"Of  course,"  said  Eva  thoughtfully ;  "it 's  easy  to  dress 
up  for  some  special  occasion  and  look  nice." 

"Yes,  perhaps.  Better  if  some  of  them  had  n't  dressed 
up  so  much,  though,"  said  the  exacting  Gret.  "Just  look 
how  horrid  those  curls  look,"  scrutinizing  a  famous 
Gainsborough  beauty  with  unadmiring  eyes.  "Exactly 
like  sausages!" 

Eva  laughed.  "Yes,  they  do— in  the  picture.  I  don't 
suppose  they  did,  though,  themselves — I  mean,  in  life. 
Janice  Meredith  wore  curls  like  that,  Gret.  Don't  you 
remember  how  it  showed  her  on  the  cover  of  the  book?" 

Gret  nodded,  but  her  eyes  and  attention  were  turned 
down  to  the  river.  A  gang  of  the  boys  came  down  from 
the  camp,  and  with  much  laughter  and  shouting  rowed 
off  down  the  river.  They  would  not  go  down  to  Quellish 
as  late  as  this— week-day  night,  too;  and  besides  they 
were  such  a  mixed  lot,  men  of  such  diverse  tastes.    Gret 


2o6  GRET 

wondered  exceedingly.  Where  could  they  be  going? 
She  half  opened  her  lips  to  hail  them,  but  desisted.  Her 
mother  was  reading  on  the  porch  and  she  was  pronounced 
in  her  dislike  of  hearing  Gret  hail  people  from  the  bluff. 

In  a  few  minutes  Gret's  wonder  increased.  Another 
group  came  down  the  board-walk,  this  time  comprising 
Dick,  Jake,  the  foreman  feller  and  other  responsible 
spirits  of  the  camp.  Evidently  something  was  going  on 
down  the  river,  and  Gret  grew  indignant  to  think  she  had 
not  been  duly  informed.  The  peace  of  the  evening  was 
broken,  all  literary  interest  dispelled,  and  Gret  fidgeted  on 
the  grass.  And  then  presently  the  last  straw  arrived  in 
the  shape  of  Robin  rowing  energetically  down-stream. 

That  was  too  much.  Gret  jumped  up.  "Evie,  I  won't 
be  a  minute.    I  just  want  to  ask  Rob  what  's  going  on." 

She  swooped  down  the  bluff  steps,  and  Robin,  seeing 
her,  dutifully  swerved  toward  her.  "Are  you  coming?" 
he  shouted. 

"Coming  where  ?"  demanded  Gret  with  traces  of.  indig- 
nation. 

"Why,  to  the  camp-meeting.    Did  n't  you  know  ?" 

"No,  of  course  not !    Nobody  told  me." 

"That  's  funny,"  reaching  out  a  hand  for  the  landing. 
"Everybody  knows.  Widow  McCarty's  got  a  real  camp 
preacher — fine  shouter,  they  say — and  she  's  going  to 
have  a  revival  meeting  on  the  marsh  outside  her  house. 
Going  to  be  a  bonfire  when  it  gets  real  dusk,  and  every- 
thing.   Jump  in !" 

A  shadow  fell  on  Gret's  face.  "I  can't,  I  'm  afraid, 
Rob.    I  was  just  with  Evie,  and—" 

"Well,  bring  her  along,"  promptly.  Robin  had  never 
taken  very  much  notice  of  Eva,  but  he  did  not  suppose  she 
would  be  any  particular  damper  on  the  proceedings. 

"I  don't  think  she  'd  come,"  said  Gret.  "She  never  will 
go  anywhere.    .    .    .    Look  here !"  suddenly.    "You  come 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  207 

Up  with  me,  and  while  I  run  and  ask  mother,  you  talk  for 
all  you  're  worth  to  Eva  so  that  she  won't  have  time  to 
think  whether  she  '11  go  or  not.    See  ?" 

Robin  climbed  out  in  a  moment,  accustomed  of  old  to 
obeying  Gret's  commands.  Together  they  charged  up 
the  bank,  and  while  Gret  ran  on  across  to  her  mother, 
Robin  overwhelmed  with  a  perfect  torrent  of  words  the 
astonished  Eva.  He  was  at  the  same  time  astonished 
himself.  He  had  known  Eva  all  his  life  of  course,  but 
during  the  last  year  or  two  he  had  been  coming  to  the  Sil- 
way  house  very  little.  And  during  this  time  Eva  had 
transformed  herself  into  a  real  young  lady,  and  a  very  re- 
served and  grown-uppish  one  at  that.  He  was  surprised. 
So  was  Eva.  Robin  was  so  big  and  tall  when  he  came 
close;  and  then  he  had  a  way  of  carrying  one  off  one's 
feet  and  giving  one  no  time  to  think. 

Mrs.  Silway  was  amused  when  Gret  asked  whether 
Robin  might  take  her  and  Eva  to  a  camp-meeting  down 
at  Widow  McCarty's.  The  name,  camp-meeting,  was 
redolent  of  old  Southern  days. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said.  "I  don't  see  why  not. 
Don't  be  late,  though." 

"I  don't  know  how  long  it  lasts,"  answered  Gret  truth- 
fully. "But  if  it  's  very  late  we  can  come  away  before  it 
ends." 

She  rushed  into  the  house  for  her  own  hat  and  Eva's, 
and  then  back  to  the  bluff.  And  as  she  had  directed,  Eva 
was  down  the  steps  and  into  the  boat  before  she  had  much 
chance  to  realize  what  had  happened. 

"There  '11  be  heaps  of  people  there,  and  nobody  '11 
bother  about  us,"  observed  Gret  soothingly  to  Eva,  pick- 
ing up  oars  as  she  spoke  and  helping  to  send  the  boat  like 
a  rocket  down  the  stream. 

As  far  as  the  number  of  people  was  concerned,  Gret 
was  right.     The  prospective  audience— men   and  boys 


2o8  GRET 

principally,  though  there  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  women 
— were  already  seated  on  every  available  log  and  mound 
on  the  little  marsh  before  the  widow's  cottage  when  they 
arrived  on  the  scene.  On  the  edge  of  the  marsh,  near  the 
river,  over  a  heap  of  oiled  gunny  sacks,  a  pile  of  wood 
was  erected,  to  which  some  enterprising  youths,  in  whose 
eyes,  doubtless,  the  bonfire  was  the  main  attraction,  were 
adding  anything  and  everything  inflammable  within  sight. 
But  in  her  prediction  that  no  one  would  notice  them  Gret 
was  very  wide  of  the  mark.  Xhey  became  immediately 
the  center  of  attraction,  not,  of  course,  on  account  of 
either  Gret  or  Robin,  but  of  Eva.  The  women  eyed  her 
critically  and  curiously,  and  the  men  without  exception 
admiringly.  To  most  of  those  present  her  existence  was 
known  well  enough ;  but  of  late  years  few  had  had  an  op- 
portunity to  notice  the  girl  at  close  range.  And  then, 
again,  to  some  of  them  she  was  a  complete  stranger. 

Every  soul  present  was  known  to  Gret,  and  she  glanced 
round  with  alert,  interested  eyes;  but  Eva  felt  the  keen 
scrutiny  given  her  and  shrank  back  a  little.  And  when 
Gret,  unthinking  of  her  sister's  mental  discomfort,  darted 
here  and  there  to  speak  to  this  one  and  that,  she  turned 
her  eyes — big,  soft  eyes  of  red-brown,  with  heavy  white 
lids— appealingly  on  Robin. 

"Don't  you  leave  me,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  won't,"  responded  Robin  gallantly,  noticing  the 
admiring  glances  of  the  men  around  and  proud  to  be  the 
escort  of  the  new  belle.  "Let  's  go  and  sit  on  the  bank 
near  the  table.  That  's  where  the  preacher  's  going  to 
stand  to  preach." 

Eva  agreed,  and  they  crossed  over.  And  then  when 
she  was  seated  and  no  longer  a  target  for  all  eyes,  she 
felt  easier. 

The  mill-house  party  turned  out  in  its  entirety,  even 
to  Mrs.  Baring  herself.    Indeed,  that  lady  declared  her- 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  209 

self  delighted  with  the  opportunity  of  viewing  anything 
so  quaint  and  primitive  as  an  open-air  revival  meeting, 
only  begging  her  companions  to  stay,  one  or  another, 
constantly  by  her,  so  that  it  would  not  appear  to  devolve 
upon,  any  of  the  rustic  community  to  draw  near  and 
cheer  her  solitude. 

Gret  gazed  in  surprise  as  the  well-laden  mill  launch 
nosed  its  way  among  the  row  of  boats,  and  then  she 
laughed  as  Bobbie  began  frantically  to  claw  out  tufts  of 
the  bank  in  his  endeavors  to  effect  a  landing. 
She  went  up,  took  the  line  he  threw  to  her,  and  made  the 
boat  fast  to  the  near-by  stump  of  a  willow.  Then  the 
party  climbed  out  with  greater  and  less  exhibitions  of 
agility. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Baring,  gazing  about.  "What 
do  we  sit  down  upon?" 

"Mother  Earth,  I  fancy,"  replied  Ludlowe,  looking 
about  him  with  amused  interest. 

"Let  's  go  and  sit  on  the  bank  by  the  table.  I  expect 
that  's  where  the  old  boy  will  hold  forth,"  proposed  Bob- 
bie, his  arms  clasped  tightly  about  a  collection  of  rugs 
and  wraps.  And  the  proposal  seeming  good  to  the  rest 
of  the  party,  they  repaired  to  the  ledge  of  slightly  rising 
ground  near  the  cottage  and  the  table  previously  chosen 
by  Robin  as  apparently  the  best  vantage  point. 

Here,  some  little  time  after  they  were  all  comfortably 
seated,  came  Gret  and  stood  smilingly  before  them. 
"That  is  my  sister,  Eva,"  she  remarked  collectively  to  the 
whole  group,  with  a  glance  at  the  girl  a  few  feet  away. 

"Oh,  yes!"  Mrs.  Baring  smiled  graciously  in  that 
young  lady's  direction.    "How  do  you  do  ?" 

Maude  followed  suit,  and  the  men  all  lifted  their  hats 

and  naturally  looked  with  interest  at  the  girl  whom  none 

had  seen  nearer  than  the  bluff  above  the  river.   Eva  felt 

and  looked  awkward  and  self-conscious,  and  devoutly 

u 


2IO  GRET 

wished  the  earth  would  swallow  her  up,  or  that  she  had 
never  come.  And  then  Gret,  immediately  compassionate, 
coolly  inserted  her  person  between  the  distressed  girl  and 
the  eyes  of  a  too  interested  world,  and  remained  standing 
so  until  the  first  excess  of  interest  should  have  subsided. 

"She  's  very  pretty,"  remarked  Mrs.  Baring  in  an  un- 
dertone to  Ludlowe,  who  reclined  on  her  right.  **But 
then,  dear  me,  pretty  girls  are  plentiful  enough.  She 
would  n't  be  half  the  acquisition  that  Gret  would  be.  She 
has  n't  an  atom  of  her  self-poise." 

"Oh,  no.  She  ^s  an  exactly  opposite  being,"  agreed 
Ludlowe.  "But  she  's  undeniably  pretty ;  refined-looking, 
too." 

When  she  had  at  last  finished  her  ramble  round  among 
the  assembled  people,  Gret  came  and  took  up  her  seat 
near  Eva.  She  looked  about  with  eyes  wide  and  bright 
with  contentment  and  appreciation.  The  air  was  grow- 
ing delightfully  cool  and  still;  and  the  people,  having 
mostly  arrived,  were  seated  about  in  groups,  chattering 
and  keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  the  long-coat-tailed  figure 
of  the  preacher  visible  in  earnest  converse  within  the  cot- 
tage; the  river  was  turning  to  gold  and  the  pines  were 
sharpening  against  the  sky,  and  Gret's  heart  swelled  with 
delight. 

Presently,  just  when  expectation  had  reached  the  point 
when,  neglected,  it  must  decline  into  impatience,  the  much- 
expected  one  came  forth,  followed  by  the  widow  bearing 
a  glass  of  water,  from  which  from  time  to  time  the  lips 
of  eloquence  would  be  moistened.  He  came  and  stood  by 
the  table,  looking  smilingly  round  on  his  audience. 

Gret  scanned  him  curiously,  very  curiously,  for  here 
was  another  of  the  same  calling  as  Arthur.  He  was  a 
small,  lean  man,  the  largest  thing  about  him,  it  seemed  to 
her,  being  the  wide,  shapeless  mouth.  His  lips  were  de- 
void of  hair,  but  from  the  very  tip  of  his  chin  depended 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  211 

a  long  scanty  beard.  His  manner  was  unctuous  and 
self-satisfied  in  the  extreme,  and  Gret  disliked  him  there 
and  then  and  was  prepared  to  scout  every  word  he  said 
before  he  had  uttered  one. 

He  began  to  talk  very  gently  and  blandly,  smiling  with 
the  air  of  one  who  had  great  surprises  in  store  for  them, 
as  doubtless  he  had  in  the  way  of  sound  and.  flurry.  He 
was  experienced  in  just  such  work  and— barring,  of  course, 
such  born  skeptics  as  Gret  and  such  cultured  hsteners  as 
those  from  the  mill-house— just  such  audiences  as  that  in 
hand,  and  his  opening  preamble  was  a  more  or  less  ego- 
tistical string  of  reminiscences  and  worn  anecdotes.  Then, 
as  the  rich  August  evening  mellowed  and  waned,  he 
warmed  to  his  work.  From  the  delights  of  travel  and  a 
world-wide  reputation  he  had  come — he — to  tell  them 
what  they  were  doing;  to  show  them  how,  leading  their 
careless  lives,  amassing  wealth,  feasting  and  drinking, 
ploughing  and  reaping,  they  stood  on  the  very  verge  of  a 
precipice  over  which  any  day  might  hurl  them.  They 
lived  so,  not  knowing  each  night  they  laid  them  down  but 
that  in  the  midst  of  their  sleep  they  might  be  awakened 
by  the  awful  trump  of  doom  that  should  shake  the  earth 
to  its  foundations. 

All  this,  and  more,  in  very  questionable  grammar  and 
with  much  repetition.  Still,  the  audience  was  for  the 
most  part  unable  to  criticize  these  points,  and  as  there  was 
certainly  no  faltering  nor  lack  of  conviction,  they  were 
on  the  whole  impressed.  The  preacher  paused,  took  a  sip 
of  water,  and  instructed  the  nearest  boy,  standing  open- 
mouthed  and  hands  in  pocket,  to  touch  a  match  to  the 
bonfire— an  order  which  was  obeyed  on  the  instant. 

Then  as  the  flames  rose  up  the  preacher  spread  his 
arms  abroad  and  began  the  revival  in  earnest.  His  voice 
rose  as  the  wind  in  winter,  and  so  many  and  great  were 
his  writhings  and  contortions  that  it  seemed  to  Gret  that 


212  GRET 

he  could  not  really  be  standing  on  the  same  spot  all  the 
time.  He  wailed  and  ranted  and  tore,  and  pictured  in 
terrifying  terms  the  endless  death  in  the  lake  of  brimstone 
awaiting  those  who  did  not  avail  themselves  of  the  heaven 
he  came  to  offer.  And  so  great  was  the  frenzy  into  which 
he  worked  himself  that  to  Gret's  surprise  some  of  the  wo- 
men present  became  infected  and  began  to  weep  hysteri- 
cally. She  looked  round  to  see  how  others  were  taking 
it,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  Widow  McCarty.  The  little 
widow  was  seated  near  the  preacher,  her  hands  folded  in 
her  lap,  and  on  her  face  sL  look  of  bittef  satisfaction  so 
profound  that  Gret's  eyes  were  arrested  immediately. 
She  rose  up  softly,  and  quietly  crossing  the  slight  inter- 
vening distance  slipped  down  by  the  old  woman's  side. 

"Is  n't  it  nice  to  think  of  McCarty  burning  like  that 
forever,"  she  whispered. 

Widow  McCarty  started  and  looked  shocked.  "I 
would  n't   wish  anybody  such  a  thing,  child,"  she  said. 

Nevertheless,  when  Gret,  with  a  slight  smile,  turned 
her  attention  to  the  speaker,  the  woman  looked  down  into 
her  lap  with  perturbed  eyes.  For  down  in  her  heart  she 
knew  it  was  just  that  thought— not  exactly  the  burning, 
perhaps,  but  the  thought  of  how  he  who  had  wronged 
her  would  be  punished— that  alone  of  all  the  religion 
preached  had  been  gladdening  her  heart  that  night. 

By  and  by  Gret  looked  at  the  widow  again,  and  noticed 
the  dejection  that  had  succeeded  satisfaction.  She 
smiled  amusedly,  though  a  sort  of  half-pitying  compre- 
hension crept  into  her  eyes,  as  if  for  a  moment  she  di- 
vined the  feelings  of  the  poor,  rebellious  embittered  heart. 
Then  she  got  up  and  went  back  to  Eva  and  Robin,  just  as 
the  preacher  had  begun  to  exhort  those  who  were  repent- 
ant to  come  and  kneel  at  the  mercy-seat— presumably 
somewhere  near  him — and  wrestle  with  the  devil  while 
he  prayed  with  them.    And  as  Gret  reseated  herself  she 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  213 

saw  the  widow  go  and  kneel  sadly  and  uncomfortably  at 
the  chair  upon  which,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  the 
man  of  God  would  sit. 

"What  do  you  bet,"  whispered  Robin,  "that  Mike  Wes- 
terfeldt  does  n't  go  and  kneel  and  get  religion." 

"What  does  it  cost  ?"  inquired  Gret. 

"Oh-h,  nothing,  I  suppose— anything  you  like  to  put  in 
the  collection." 

"Oh,  perhaps  he  will,  then,"  said  Gret  smiling.  "They 
won't  do  a  thing  to  him  in  camp  to-morrow  if  he  does." 

And  perhaps  this  same  conviction  was  borne  in  upon 
Mike,  because,  though  plainly  very  interested  in  the  pro- 
ceedings, he  yet  remained  among  the  unrepentant.  One 
other  woman  joined  the  widow  at  the  mercy-seat,  and 
over  these  two  the  preacher  prayed  loud  and  long,  finally 
dismissing  them  to  go  back  among  the  wolves  and  set  a 
bright  and  shining  example —  a  concluding  sentence  which 
Gret  thought  sounded  distinctly  spiteful.  Then,  conclud- 
ing that  the  laborer  was  worthy  of  his  hire,  and  asking 
some  one  to  pass  the  hat  round,  the  revivalist  sat  down 
and  rested  from  his  labors. 

Gr^t  noticed  that  as  soon  as  the  hat  appeared,  borne 
round  by  the  widow,  there  was  a  general  desire  to  see  to 
the  boats  and  an  immediate  necessity  to  start  for  home. 
However,  most  of  the  camp  hands  contributed  a  nickel, 
and  the  mill-house  people— perhaps  grateful  for  the  nov- 
elty, if  nothing  else,  of  the  entertainment — gave  liberally, 
so  that  the  preacher's  strenuous  efforts  did  not  go  alto- 
gether unrewarded. 

As  soon  as  the  obnoxious  hat  had  returned  to  its 
source,  the  people  closed  back  again,  chattering  with  much 
energy.  Among  others,  Jake  strolled  up  to  the  two  girls 
and  Robin. 

"Well,  how  was  that  for  a  spiel?"  he  asked,  his  eyes 
wandering  curiously  over  Eva  as  she  stood  by  Robin. 


214  GRET 

"Fine !"  laughed  Gret.  "But  I  was  hoping  to  see  you 
go  up  and  repent." 

"Not  much  in  my  Hne,"  said  the  truthful  Jake;  "un- 
less I  'm  found  out." 

"That  's  about  right,  too,"  observed  Dick  Swinton, 
who  had  approached  in  time  to  catch  this  expression  of 
sentiment. 

"But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  was  thinking,"  went  on  Jake, 
looking  knowingly  at  Gret,  and  then  glancing  up  the 
caiion  behind  them,  upon  whose  sides,  despite  the  deep 
shadows,  the  smooth  outlines  of  second  growth  could  be 
plainly  traced :  "I  was  thinking  that  perhaps  you  might 
go  up  and  repent  yourself !" 

Robin  burst  into  a  loud  guffaw.  "You  bet— the  fire !" 
he  said,  quick  to  catch  Jake's  meaning.  Dick,  too,  laughed 
in  remembrance;  and  Gret,  rendered  indifferent  by  the 
lapse  of  time,  laughed  herself. 

Here  the  mill-house  party,  about  to  embark,  came  up  to 
speak  a  parting  word. 

"You  must  bring  your  sister  down  to  see  us,  Gret," 
said  Mrs.  Baring  gushingly.  "You  so  rarely  go  out,  do 
you  ?"  to  Eva.  "Are  n't  you  ever  lonely  ?" 

"Oh,  no !"  replied  the  girl  quietly. 

"No.    She  reads  all  day,  like  mother,"  explained  Gret. 

"Dear  me !  A  real  book-worm.  Well,  come  and  see  us 
even  so,"  said  Mrs.  Baring,  smiling  and  turning  away.. 
"A  few  studies  in  real  life  are  to  be  recommended  occa- 
sionally." 

Here  Bobbie,  who  had  stared  at  Eva  with  unblinking 
ardor  for  a  moment  or  so,  having  finally  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  she  was  very  pretty,  but  too  quiet,  broke 
in:  "We  came  down  in  the  launch.  Come  along;  we  '11 
take  you  home." 

"Oh,  yes.  How  thoughtless  of  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Baring,  pausing.    "Of  course  we  can  take  you  home." 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  215 

But  Gret  feeling  a  gentle  kick  on  her  ankle  from  be- 
hind, and  knowing  it  came  from  Robin,  who  was  not 
pleased  with  the  proposition,  declined  with  thanks. 

"We  like  the  row  home  by  starlight,"  she  said.  ''Robin 
brought  us  down,  and  he  will  take  us  back  all  right. 
Thank  you,  though." 

So  with  cheerful  good-nights  the  mill  party  embarked, 
and  Robin  and  his  two  charges  prepared  to  follow  their 
example. 

"Say!"  called  out  Jake,  ambling  over  the  uneven 
ground.  "Our  party  's  kind  of  growed  some  way  or 
other  since  we  came  down.  We  can't  all  get  in  the  boats. 
You  three  don't  fill  that.  Can't  you  give  some  of  us  a 
lift?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  acquiesced  Gret.  "Come  on,  Dick," 
waving  her  arm ;  "and  Oly." 

That  amiable  youth  accepted  the  invitation  immediately, 
coming  over  the  bunchy  grass  in  a  series  of  long  hops. 
"I  '11  help  row,  Rob." 

"All  right,"  said  Robin  a  trifle  sulkily.  And  Gret, 
whose  quick  ear  the  tone  caught,  glanced  quickly  at  him 
and  saw  at  once  that  for  some  reason  or  other  he  did  not 
care  for  the  addition  to  the  boat  party.  However,  that 
was  a  matter  of  absolutely  no  moment,  and  she  did  not 
even  trouble  to  decide  why  he  should  be  thus  displeased. 

Eva  sat  in  the  stern,  and  Dick,  being  the  heaviest  man 
present  sat  by  her  side.  On  the  footboard,  with  her  back 
against  Dick's  knee,  Gret  planted  herself,  and  facing  them 
sat  Robin  rowing.  Behind  him  rowed  Oly,  and  behind 
him  again  in  the  bows,  a  plank  held  firmly  under  his  arm 
by  way  of  a  rudder,  sat  Jake.  So  the  heavily  laden  boat 
started  homeward  up-stream. 

Eva  enjoyed  the  row  home,  her  shyness  dispelled  by  the 
half  darkness.  She  was  essentially  the  child  of  dreams 
and  shadows;  and  as  she  sat,  with  her  back  to  the  faint 


2i6  GRET 

light  of  the  horizon,  her  oval  face  with  its  natural  pallor, 
and  the  big,  soft  eyes  with  that  faint,  attractive  droop  of 
the  white  lids,  looked  very  spirituelle  and  sweet.  Gret 
shared  with  Eva  the  naturally  pale,  creamy  skin,  only  that 
in  her  case  perpetual  tan  effectually  disguised  the  original 
delicacy  of  coloring.  Not  so  with  Eva,  who  never  ven- 
tured into  the  sun  until  it  was  well  down  on  the  horizon. 

Robin  sat  rowing  with  the  ease  of  great  strength  and 
long  use,  his  eyes  taking  in  the  previously  unnoticed 
points  of  beauty  in  Eva  Silway,  the  slim,  pointed  white 
hands  folded  languidly  in  her  lap,  and  the  soft,  creamy 
throat. 

There  is  always  a  time  when  a  man  first  sees  a  woman, 
even  if  he  has  known  her  all  his  life.  And  Robin  looked 
at  Eva  Silway  for  the  first  time  that  night. 

Notwithstanding  that  two  of  the  boat's  crew  were  silent 
—the  one  naturally,  and  the  other  on  account  of  much 
thinking — there  was  no  dearth  of  noise  or  excitement  on 
board.  Oly  did  his  best  to  run  into  every  boat  they  passed 
or  that  passed  them,  treated  the  luckless  Jake  behind  him 
to  copious  showers,  and  then  quarreled  vociferously  with 
that  justly  incensed  gentleman.  Gret  delighted  with  the 
whole  affair,  sat  on  the  floor  and  chuckled  and  giggled 
all  the  way  home,  watching  betweenwhiles,  with  keen, 
unconscious  love,  the  water,  oily  in  its  smoothness,  and 
with  a  sort  of  sullen  light  in  its  depths,  move  in  heavy 
swells  from  the  boat's  side. 

No  stop  was  made  at  the  camp-landing.  The  boat  was 
sent  straight  on  to  the  Silway  steps;  and  here  Robin 
jumped  out  and  helped  Eva  to  alight  with  almost  exag- 
gerated deference.  For  this  service,  as  may  be  expected, 
he  was  duly  taken  to  task  as  they  rowed  on  up  to  the  Or- 
chards. 

"Never  knew  you  was  so  smart  around  ladies,"  ob- 
served Jake  maliciously. 


FAINT  SHAPES  OF  THE  FUTURE  217 

"Me  neither!"  snorted  Oly.  ''Bowed  plumb  down  to 
the  ground !" 

"Shut  up,"  said  Robin  tartly. 

"She  's  a  mighty  pretty  girl,"  remarked  Oly  blandly. 

"Yes.  She  's  got  the  looks,  and  Gret  's  got  the  brains," 
said  Jake,  summing  up. 

"Oh,  I  don't  see  that  Gret  's  so  extra  clever!"  said 
Robin. 

"You  don't!"  echoed  Jake,  astonished  at  such  heresy. 
"Well,  you  will  if  you  ever  fall  out  with  her,  sonny !" 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  GREAT   SURPRISE 

LUDLOWE'S  actions  were  always  more  or  less  of  a 
J  surprise,  even  to  his  intimates.  The  deliberations 
which  preceded  his  actions  were  rarely  expressed ;  conse- 
quently there  was  little  to  guide  expectation.  But  if  one 
person  could  be  said  to  know  more  than  another  of  his 
intentions,  present  and  future,  it  was  Arthur  Massinger, 
who  was  certainly  favored  with  more  of  Errol's  plans  and 
ideas  than  any  one  else ;  and  yet  even  he  was  sometimes  as 
much  taken  aback  as  the  rest  of  the  world. 

One  day,  towards  the  end  of  August,  Ludlowe  came 
and  seated  himself  near  his  friend,  as  that  gentle  individ- 
ual lay  reading  in  his  favorite  spot  near  the  cool  of  the 
river  brink,  and  opened  up,  in  as  casual  a  way  as  he  might 
have  discussed  plans  for  the  morrow,  a  conversation  that, 
for  the  time  being,  at  all  events,  astounded  Arthur  as 
much  as  anything  his  erratic  friend  had  ever  said  or  done 
in  his  life. 

"In  the  midst  of  that  anxiety  for  Gret's  peace  of  mind 
which  you  once  mentioned,  Arthur,  did  it  ever  occur  to 
you  to  think  of  her  as  a  possible  wife  for  me?'* 

Arthur's  amazed  countenance  was  a  sufficiently  decided 
answer  in  the  negative,  and  Ludlowe  laughed. 

"It  did  n't,  I  see.  Well,  I  can  quite  understand  that  at 
first  glance  the  idea  is  astounding."  He  lay  back  on  the 
moss  and,  clasping  his  fingers  behind  his  head,  watched 

3l8 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  219 

his  friend  from  between  lazily  drooping  lashes.  "First  of 
all,  though,  what  objection  first  shot  into  your  mind  when 
I  spoke?" 

"None !"  Arthur  shook  his  head  in  a  manner  intimating 
his  total  inability  to  grasp  the  subject  in  hand.  "Nothing 
so  definite.  I  simply  can't  imagine — "  He  gazed  hard  at 
his  companion,  and  shook  his  head  again.  "Well,  not 
without  time  to  recover.  You  came  to  the  idea  gradually 
yourself,  no  doubt.  As  you  say,  upon  consideration  it 
may  not  be  so  amazing.  Just  at  first  glance  it  is—"  Once 
more  he  shook  his  head.    "I  never  tried  to — " 

"Well,  spend  a  few  minutes  in  stern  imagining,"  ad- 
vised Errol,  smiling.  "Then  kindly  avail  yourself  of  my 
formal  invitation  to  express  an  opinion." 

Arthur  glanced  at  the  river,  and  then  back  at  his  friend. 
Apparently  it  was  not  easy  to  imagine. to  order.  "She  is 
the  last  person  on  earth  I  should  have  dreamt  of —I  mean 
for  you.  She  is  so  inexperienced,  so— well,  not  exactly 
crude  or  rough,  but— why,  it  would  take  a  trained  woman 
of  the  world  to  fill  the  position  of  your  wife,  Errol." 

"I  don't  know  about  that.  I  am  not  at  all  partial  to  the 
species,"  objected  Errol  with  a  slight  shake  of  the  head. 
"I  have  been  watching  Gret  pretty  closely,  and  unless  I  'm 
mistaken  she  is  a  girl  who  would  be  no  time  at  all  grasp- 
ing a  new  situation,  and  becoming  mistress  of  it,  too." 

"Oh,  yes."  Arthur  smiled,  a  faintly  troubled  smile,  it 
would  almost  seem.  "Yes,  I  believe  that.  But,—"  he 
shook  his  head  hopelessly— "I  can't  imagine  Gret  leading 
your  life." 

"What  is  my  life  ?"  inquired  Ludlowe,  amused. 

"Well,  I  meant  more  particularly  the  life  that  as  your 
wife  she  would  have  to  lead,"  explained  Arthur;  "that  of 
a  prominent  society  woman.  You  see,  when  you  marry 
you  will  have  to  formally  open  up  your  establishment, 
and  entertain,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 


220  GRET 

"Oh,.  I  don't  know,"  obviously  unimpressed.  "I  don't 
feel  bound  in  any  such  manner.  I  suppose  gradually 
some  such  procedure  would  have  to  develop."  He  turned 
to  his  friend  with  sudden  curiosity.  "But  you  must  have 
imagined  some  sort  of  a  future  for  me,  Arthur,  or  this 
idea  of  mine  would  n't  run  so  evidently  counter  to  pre- 
conceived ideas  of  your  own." 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  had,  of  course,"  confessed  Arthur  readily. 
"I  've  always  supposed  that,  when  the  necessity  for  mar- 
riage could  be  no  longer  put  off,  you  'd  go  home  and 
marry  whichever  of  the  young  society  women  over  there 
appealed  to  you  as  the  most  suitable  and  congenial." 

"Just  what  I  would  n't  do !"  declared  Ludlowe  emphat- 
ically. "Such  a  life  would  be  lifelong  bondage,  and  I  can 
arrange  to  perpetuate  my  race  at  less  cost.  I  am  weary 
heart  and  soul  of  society  women.  Their  minds  are  as  fast 
bound  and  inexpansive  as  the  four  walls  of  that  build- 
ing." 

"But  where  there  is  no  love  present— and  love,  I  notice, 
is  never  mentioned  as  a  possible  factor  to  marriage — a 
conventionally  reared  woman  makes  the  safest  wife,"  ob- 
served Arthur. 

"She  does,"  agreed  Ludlowe  easily.  "That  is  just  why 
I  am  not  married  to-day.  I  can't  find  a  woman  who  could 
be  depended  upon  to  recognize  convention  when  neces- 
sary, but  who,  when  away  from  that  necessity,  could  be 
herself  and  had  a  self  to  be." 

"And  do  you  think  Gret  answers  that  description?" 
queried  Arthur. 

"I  think  Gret  is  a  woman  who  will  always  be  guided  by 
reason,"  replied  Ludlowe.  "Conventionality  I  could  teach 
her." 

"And  does  n't  it  matter  at  all  whether  the  woman  you 
make  your  wife  is  one  you  could  love- or  not?"  asked 
Arthur  softly. 


A  GRF\T  SURPRISE  221 

"Why,  it  certainly  does  matter  whether  or  not  we  could 
be  congenial,"  responded  Errol  evasively.  "And,  as  I 
said,  that  has  been  one  of  my  main  stumbling  blocks. 
Now,  I  can't  imagine  Gret  ever  disgusting  me.  She 
could  never  become  an  intriguing  society  woman.  Her 
mind  could  n't  be  brought  down  to  that  gage.  It  has 
been  shaped  amid  too  much  bigness,"  and  he  motioned 
toward  the  hills  that  circled  them. 

"Yes,"  Arthur  nodded,  "and  I  'm  afraid  if  she  stuck  to 
her  post  her  heart  would  break." 

"I  would  be  gentle  with  her,"  smiled  Ludlowe.  "She 
should  have  her  seasons  of  freedom  every  year,  until  the 
chains  had  worn  easy,  at  all  events.  And  to  begin  with  I 
would  have  the  yacht  over  and  take  her  on  what  the  so- 
ciety papers  call  an  'extended  cruise.' " 

"You  would  joke  if  you  were  going  to  be  executed,  I 
do  believe,"  complained  Arthur. 

"What  an  unfortunate  simile!"  laughed  Ludlowe,  his 
eyes,  serenely  contemplative,  on  the  rippling  brightness 
of  the  waters. 

"Don't  you  ever  expect  to  love  ?"  queried  Arthur  wist- 
fully then.  "Are  n't  you  afraid  that  some  day,  when  you 
are  committed  irrevocably  to  some  other  woman,  you  will 
come  across  the  one  you  are  to  love  ?" 

"I  expect  eventually  to  love  the  woman  who  becomes 
my  wife  and  the  mother  of  my  children,"  replied  Ludlowe 
coolly.    "No  one  else." 

"Every  man  loves  at  least  once,"  said  Arthur  gravely ; 
"and  it  is  n't  always  his  wife  and  the  mother  of  his  chil- 
dren either.  But  if  your  love  dream  is  safely  over  and 
done  with,  then  all  may  be  well." 

Ludlowe  smiled,  just  a  mere  faint  curving  of  the  lips; 
and  Arthur  watched  him  with  that  faintly  puzzled  ten- 
derness so  often  in  his  eyes  when  regarding  his  friend. 
He  would  fain  believe  that  in  the  chambers  of  that  heart 


222  GRET 

so  deeply  hidden  from  passing  notice  there  stood  a  grave 
of  evergreen  beauty,  whose  presence  perpetually  pre- 
cluded the  entrance  of  another  guest.  But  it  was  only 
hope  or  conjecture,  or  both.  After  a  little  while  he  took 
up  the  temporarily  abandoned  discussion. 

"And  so  you  think  you  could  love  Gret,  as  your  wife 
and  the  mother  of  your  children?" 

"Yes ;  I  think  she  is  a  girl  one  might  become  very  at- 
tached' to."  Ludlowe  waked  from  his  short  reverie  and 
took  up  his  former  theme  willingly  enough.  "Moreover 
—and  this  is  one  of  the  main  considerations,  Arthur— she 
will  be  the  mother  of  fine  children.  She  is  lion-hearted, 
and  I  don't  believe  her  children  could  be  commonplace. 
And  then  she  is  a  woman  of  splendid  vitality;  she  will 
bring  vigorous  blood  into  my  family  instead  of  the  slug- 
gish stuff  emanating  from  the  veins  of  an  effete  and  more 
or  less  degenerate  aristocracy." 

"Yes,  that  is  all  very  true,"  admitted  Arthur  in  a  tone 
that  implied  many  reservations. 

"Still,  you  can't  feel  happy  about  it  ?"  queried  Ludlowe, 
amused. 

Arthur  smiled  deprecatingly.  "It  is  a  great  risk.  And 
I  'm  fond  of  you  both." 

"And  upon  whose  side,  pray,  are  your  anxieties  most 
deeply  enlisted  ?"  queried  Ludlowe  further. 

"Upon  Gret's,"  confessed  Arthur  readily.  "You  are  a 
hardened  old  sinner,  and  can  recover  from  anything.  Be- 
sides, a  man  does  n't  risk  so  much  upon  marriage;  a 
woman  generally  adventures  her  all— her  all  in  the  way  of 
happiness,  at  all  events." 

"I  don't  think  Gret  will  be  any  more  of  a  rash  plunger 
in  that  respect  than  I  myself,"  declared  Ludlowe,  the 
amused  smile  still  on  his  lips.  "Moreover,  I  do  pro- 
test, my  friend,  that  I  mean  no  harm  to  the  maiden, 
notwithstanding  that  you  seem  to  regard  her  heart  as 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  223 

a  blank  page  upon  which  I  shall  inscribe  for  weal  or 
woe." 

Arthur  laughed,  and  once  more  shook  his  head,  refus- 
ing maybe  the  challenge  to  further  combat,  or  perhaps 
the  cynical  comfort  proffered. 

"Then,"  said  Ludlowe,  with  an  air  of  dismissing  the 
subject,  "after  having  discussed  with  engaging  egotism 
my  side  of  the  question,  we  will  postpone  it  indefinitely, 
recollecting  as  a  casual  consideration  that,  after  all,  the 
real  issue  of  things  lies  entirely  in  Gret's  own  hands." 

"No ;  I  think  it  lies  mostly  in  yours,"  said  Arthur. 

"You  mean  on  account  of  my  position,  and  all  that?" 
queried  Ludlowe  sharply.  "Because  I  don't  believe  that 
would  weigh  a  particle  with  Gret  if  she  did  n't  happen  to 
like  the  proposition  otherwise." 

"I  don't  either,"  agreed  Arthur  decidedly.  In  spite  of 
an  inquiring  glance  from  Errol,  he  refrained  from  giv- 
ing the  real  reason  for  the  opinion  expressed,  but  went 
on,  always  with  the  faint,  troubled  wistfulness  of  man- 
ner: "So  you  have  n't  approached  Gret  herself  in  the 
matter  at  all  yet  ?" 

"Oh  no ;  nor  shall  I  for  some  time  to  come.  I  intend  to 
have  aunt  take  her  back  to  San  Francisco  on  a  more  or 
less  lengthy  visit.  Then  I  can  judge  how  she  seems  in- 
clined to  take  to  civilized  life." 

Arthur  laughed  in  spite  of  himself.  "I  should  just  like 
to  see  Mrs.  Baring's  face  when  you  mention  your  wishes, 
Errol.  I  suppose  you  '11  drop  it  on  her  like  a  bolt  from 
the  blue,  as  you  did  me."    And  Ludlowe  laughed  too. 

Arthur  silently  passed  on  to  a  consideration  of  the 
problem  so  lately  presented  to  him,  a  problem  of  which 
the  future  alone  could  show  the  gradual  unfolding  and 
the  answer.  Somehow  he  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment 
but  that  when  Errol  held  out  his  hand  Gret  would  unfal- 
teringly place  hers  within  it.    He  was  the  master  intellect 


224  GRET 

of  them  all,  and  to  him  long  ago  Gret  had  quietly  sworn 
allegiance.  So  Arthur  had  divined,  with  a  divination 
born  of  affection  for  them  both. 

When  Ludlowe  felt  inclined  to  divulge  his  somewhat 
loosely  molded  plans  to  his  aunt,  he  was  not  in  the  least 
disappointed  at  the  effect.  That  good  lady  was  at  first 
plainly  paralyzed  beyond  speech,  and  Ludlowe  sat  and 
watched  her  face  in  open  appreciation  of  its  many  and 
rapid  changes. 

At  the  opening  of  it  Mrs.  Baring  received  her  nephew's 
communication  in  silence — for  two  reasons:  in  the  first 
place,  she  was  too  aghast,  too  utterly  dumbfounded,  to 
even  gasp  her  dismay;  and  in  the  second  place,  because, 
when  she  had  regained  composure  sufficiently  to  enter  a 
protest,  she  was  equally  able  to  realize  the  futility  of  it. 
And  then  she  cast  rapidly,  almost  frantically,  about  in  an 
attempt  to  discover  where  she  herself  stood  in  the  matter. 
One  of  her  first  thoughts  was  of  Maude,  and  this 
prompted  her  first  question. 

"Does  Gret— is  this— this  known?'' 

"No,"  promptly ;  "and  I  don't  intend  it  to  be  for  a  time. 
You  can  arrange  matters  precisely  how  you  like,  aunt- 
tell  any  yarn  you  please— as  long  as  you  oblige  me  by 
bringing  about  the  visit  I  have  mentioned  and  keeping  the 
whole  thing  strictly  to  yourself." 

Mrs.  Baring's  lips  closed  on  further  questions  for  a 
few  moments.  She  felt  like  a  prisoner  given  brief  respite. 
Maude  need  not  know  for  a  time,  then,  and  in  the  mean- 
time she  could  think  things  over  and  devise  a  plan 
whereby  suspicion  might  be  averted  until  almost  the  final 
moment.  Ultimately,  of  course,  she  would  lose  her— 
Maude.  But  then  that  was  only  a  matter  of  time  in  any 
case.  And  whatever  happened,  one  thing  was  quite  clear 
to  Mrs.  Baring :  if  Gret  was  to  enter  society  as  any  such 
personage  as  Errol's  wife,  she  wanted  to  be  chief  factor 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  225 

and  sponsor.  She  did  not  flatter  herself  that  Gret  was  a 
very  dirigible  quantity,  but,  keen  as  the  girl  evidently 
was,  she  would  still  be  a  total  stranger  to  the  kind  of  life 
her  new  position  would  call  for,  and  would  surely  need 
advice  of  some  kind,  sometimes.  Just  for  one  fleeting  sec- 
ond Mrs.  Baring  considered  the  possibility  of  so  manip- 
ulating Gret's  ignorance  as  finally  to  disgust  Errol,  and 
cause  him  to  abandon  as  impractical  this  wild  idea  of  his; 
but  she  dismissed  the  thought  even  in  the  forming.  Errol 
was  too  sharp,  and  Gret  herself  could  not  be  fooled  very 
long.  No ;  Mrs.  Baring  felt  that  any  insincerity  on  her 
part  toward  Gret's  interests  would  surely  be  discovered 
and  visited  on  her  head  with  vengeance  in  time  to  come, 
and  that  the  best  possible  .thing  for  her  to  do  would  be  to 
strive  to  make  herself  indispensable  to  the  coming  mis- 
tress of  Ketton. 

All  these  things  passed  very  swiftly  through  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing's mind,  and  then  she  sat  and  gazed  at  her  nephew. 
Apparently  she  was  sadly  wondering  why  such  men  were 
created  for  the  confounding  of  rightly  ambitious  relatives. 
Gret  of  all  women  under  the  sun!  Though,  of  course, 
there  was  no  telling  at  all  how  she  might  turn  out. 

"She  might  become  quite  a  celebrity,"  she  observed, 
speaking  her  thoughts  aloud.  "She  is  so  odd,  you 
know." 

"I  don't  doubt  at  all  but  that  she  will,"  responded  her 
nephew  coolly.  "She  is  not  the  woman  to  stay  in  the 
background  anywhere.  It  won't  take  her  long  to  feel  her 
way  and  get  accustomed  to  the  somewhat  problematical 
ways  of  society  in  our  fair  city,  and  then  if  she  does  n't 
sit  down  hard  on  some  of  those  who  fancy  they  are  run- 
ning affairs  there,  I  am  greatly  mistaken." 

"I  would  n't  be  at  all  surprised,  either,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Baring,  smiling  at  so  pleasant  a  prospect.  "I  believe  she 
is  quite  equal  to  it." 

15 


226  GRET 

"Oh,  yes.  She  is  equal  to  anything."  Ludlowe's  head 
lay  back  in  the  chair,  and  he  watched  his  aunt  from  be- 
tween half-closed  lashes.  "I  think  you  '11  find  she  will 
cope  very  successfully  with  all  that  arrives  in  the  way  of 
circumstance,  both  friend  and  foe." 

Mrs.  Baring  nodded,  and  sat  in  almost  resentful  silence 
for  a  moment  or  so.  *'I  thought,"  she  said  then,  "that 
Gret— that  Arthur— well,  everybody  thought  that—" 

"Very  good !  Let  them  go  on  thinking  so,"  advised 
Ludlowe. 

Mrs.  Baring  intended  to,  but  did  not  say  so.  "Well! 
If  I  'm  to  have  her  down  in  San  Francisco  with  me,  I 
must  get  her  here  more  and  break  her  in  somewhat." 

"Oh,  she  's  not  so  great  a  savage  as  you  seem  to  sup- 
pose," said  Ludlowe.  "The  mother  is  a  very  refined  wo- 
man, I  am  told." 

"Yes,  so  Bobbie  says,"  with  faint  scorn.  "But  I  ima- 
gine she  is  very  peculiar." 

Ludlowe's  eyes  rested  on  his  aunt's  face  in  ill-con- 
cealed amusement.  He  knew  that  in  Mrs.  Baring's  eyes 
the  chief  proof  of  Mrs.  Silway's  peculiarity  lay  in  the  fact 
that  she  had  all  the  summer  been  able  to  deny  herself  the 
privilege  of  calling  on  her  fashionable  and  newly  im- 
ported neighbors.  Mrs.  Baring  had  begun  life  on  the 
Wishkah  by  devoutly  hoping  she  would  not  have  a  lot  of 
uncouth  calls  inflicted  on  her.  As  there  was  absolutely 
no  other  woman  in  that  region  at  all  likely,  or  in  any  posi- 
tion, to  call  except  Mrs.  Silway,  her  hopes  and  fears  were 
obviously  limited  in  range.  When,  however,  time  passed 
and  Mrs.  Silway  showed  not  the  slightest  disposition  to 
either  call  or  in  any  other  way  obtain  a  sight  of  her  new 
neighbors,  Mrs.  Baring  began  to  be  aggrieved.  Finally 
she  came  to  long  for  commune  with  a  woman  somewhat 
her  own  age,  only  to  have  the  longing  remain  unappeased. 
Now,  without  any  loss  of  dignity,  she  would  have  a  valid 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  227 

excuse  for  storming  the  stronghold  of  indifference;  and 
Mrs.  Silway  should  be  shown  a  distinguished  woman  of 
the  world,  whether  or  no.  For  of  course  it  would  be  nec- 
essary to  call  and  obtain  that  lady's  permission  to  take 
Gret  back  to  San  Francisco  with  her. 

"I  shall  have  to  call  and  see  Mrs.  Silway  about  it— Gret 
— of  course,"  she  observed,  shaping  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"You  will,  eventually,"  agreed  Errol ;  ''but  let  me  re- 
mind you,  in  closing  the  subject,  that  Gret  herself  is  in 
ignorance  of  any  ulterior  motive  either  on  your  part  or 
mine.  I  want  her  to  remain  so  until  I  myself  enlighten 
her."  And  Mrs.  Baring,  somewhat  offended,  nodded  as- 
sent.   The  matter  was  closed  for  the  time  being. 

But  from  this  it  came  to  pass  that,  with  all  extraneous 
motives  hidden,  and  with  that  wholesale  graciousness 
characteristic  of  her  when  she  chose,  Mrs.  Baring  began 
to  cultivate  Gret's  friendship  and  confidence.  And  Gret, 
also  with  hidden  motives,  allowed  herself  to  be  cultivated. 
There  was  ample  time  for  both  processes,  as  Mrs.  Baring 
did  not  intend  to  return  to  San  Francisco  until  the  middle 
or  end  of  September,  or  even,  should  the  weather  remain 
good,  until  perhaps  the  middle  of  October.  That  was 
about  the  time  when  people  began  to  return  to  the  Bay 
City,  for  one  thing;  and  for  another,  now  that  she  was 
fairly  reconciled  to  her  present  mode  of  living,  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing wished  to  remain  as  long  as  possible  at  the  mill.  For 
when  she  and  her  party  departed  for  town  Bobbie  accom- 
panied them.  That  was  definitely  settled  between  him  and 
Bertie  Fonseker.  After  some  discussion  the  two  young 
men  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  one  of  them  at  a 
time  was  quite  sufficient  to  manage  the  business,  and  they 
had  arranged  each  to  spend  half  the  winter  in  the  city, 
Bertie  generously  allowing  Bobbie  to  spend  the  first  half. 
The  one  in  the  city,  however,  was  to  send  up,  from  time  to 
time,  guests  for  the  duck-shooting,  which  during  the  rainy 


228  GRET 

season  was  plentiful  on  the  Wishkah,  so  that  the  solitary 
resident  at  the  mill  would  not  become  afflicted  with  mel- 
ancholia. 

For  the  rest,  the  mill  had  now  resolved  itself  into  a 
smooth  and  settled  affair.  It  had  its  regular  customers ; 
and,  moreover,  thanks  to  Gret  and  her  influence,  both 
owners  had  managed  to  obtain  a  fair  insight  into  what 
a  concern  of  its  size  ought  to  do,  and  not  only  that,  but 
what  it  must  do,  in  order  to  make  it  pay.  Business  had 
been  good  and  brisk  all  the  summer,  but  when  the  rain 
set  in  all  down  the  coast,  in  October  or  November,  and 
building  to  any  extent  ceased,  Mrs.  Baring  surmised  that 
orders  would  doubtless  fall  off  both  in  number  and  mag- 
nitude. Obviously,  then— and  if  possible  not  till  then — 
was  the  time  to  take  the  restless  Bobbie  away  from  a  busi- 
ness that  Mrs.  Baring  still  fondly  imagined  he  more  than 
half  controlled. 

Notwithstanding  that  she  still  had  a  month  or  so  at  her 
disposal,  Mrs.  Baring  considered  it  none  too  early  to  be- 
gin to  take  soundings  in  the  mysterious  ocean  of  Gret's 
personality.  As  she  observed  to  Ludlowe,  she  was  averse 
to  taking  charge  of  so  decided  a  quantity  while  yet  un- 
known. Gret  on  the  other  hand,  had  no  desire  at  all  to 
learn  more  of  Mrs.  Baring's  personality,  being  probably 
of  the  opinion  that  it  was  not  of  a  kind  to  repay  research ; 
but  for  reasons  of  her  own  she  had  decided  to  part 
with  that  lady  on  terms  as  nearly  approaching  familiarity 
and  friendship  as  possible.  Though  for  Mrs.  Baring  to 
make  a  sudden  change  of  front  was  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world,  to  Gret  it  was  one  of  the  most  difficult.  In  her 
heart  she  never  did  change  her  opinions,  or  at  all  events 
but  rarely ;  but  sometimes  it  suited  her  to  bury  them  away. 

However,  the  first  bread  broken  in  Mrs.  Baring's  house 
was  the  rubicon  which,  safely  passed,  ended  most  of  the 
difficulty.    And  the  task  of  prevailing  upon  Gret  to  pass  it 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  229 

was  accomplished   one   afternoon   when   the   mill-house 
party  returned  from  a  trip  to  Quellish  in  the  launch. 

"We  Ve  just  twenty  minutes  to  dress,"  observed  Mrs. 
Baring,  consulting  her  watch.  "Come  in  to  dinner  with 
us,  Gret." 

"Thank  you,  but  I  don't  think  I  will,"  replied  Gret  in 
her  usual  way.    "I  believe  I  'd  better  go  home." 

"Why?"  demanded  Ludlowe,  recognizing  his  aunt's 
motive.  "You  '11  refuse  us,  and  then  go  right  up  to  the 
camp  and  dine  with  all  that  rabble.    You  know  you  will." 

"We  have  n't  any  rabble  in  our  camp,"  retorted  Gret 
quickly.     "Dick  won't  have  any." 

"Well,  I  mean— you  know  what  I  mean !"  said  Lud- 
lowe, still  busy  with  his  task  of  gathering  up  wraps  and 
unaware  of  the  extent  of  his  offense. 

"He  means  old  and  young,  those  you  know  and  those 
you  don't  know,"  explained  Massinger,  smiling. 

"Yes,  that  had  just  better  be  all  he  means!"  chuckled 
Bobbie.  "Rabble,  indeed !  The  idea— Gret's  camp  rab- 
ble!" 

Ludlowe  looked  up,  realizing  for  the  first  time  the  ef- 
fect of  his  words.  He  laughed.  "Why,  I  meant  it  in  the 
way  of  assortment,  Gret,"  he  said;  "not  reflecting  at  all 
upon  the  individual  worth  and  qualities  of  the  members." 

"Well,  as  long  as  you  don't  quarrel  over  it—"  observed 
Mrs.  Baring,  turning  to  go  up  the  bank;  "remember,  I 
commission  you  three  to  bring  Gret  in  to  dinner,  some 
way  or  other." 

"We  will,"  repHed  Bobbie  cheerfully.  "Give  me  some 
of  those  bundles,  Arthur.  Man  alive !  You  '11  bury  your- 
self.   Come  along,  Gret !"  holding  out  a  disengaged  hand. 

But  still  Gret  hesitated.  She  glanced  at  the  cotton 
waist,  once  blue,  but  the  cuffs  and  front  of  which,  having 
claimed  Lizzie's  most  vigorous  attention,  were  now  al- 
most white ;  and  at  the  long,  thin,  brown  hands,  and  for 


230  GRET 

perhaps  the  first  time  in  her  life  was  troubled  over  per- 
sonal appearance. 

''Oh,  pooh !"  said  Bobbie,  divining  the  cause  of  her  hesi- 
tation. "You  're  the  finest  old  lady  on  the  coast.  Come 
along !" 

And  so  Gret  went  up  to  the  house,  where  she  was  taken 
in  hand  by  Maude.  That  entirely  unsuspecting  lady,  hav- 
ing from  the  very  first  conceived  a  liking  for  Gret,  and 
not  for  a  moment  deeming  her  dangerous  to  personal  in- 
terests, had  noticed  with  amusement  Mrs.  Baring's  hos- 
pitable overtures  and  stood  in  readiness  to  back  them  up. 
She  took  Gret  with  her  to  her  room  to  prepare  for  the 
evening  meal;  and  here  Gret  proceeded  to  wash  her 
hands,  and  was  about  to  follow  that  performance  by 
washing  her  face,  when  stopped  by  a  little  shriek  from 
Maude. 

"No,  no !  Oh,  dear  me,  never  wash  your  face  after 
having  been  out  of  doors  so  long.  Here !  Refresh  your 
face  with  this." 

"This"  was  a  delicate  preparation  of  glycerin,  rose- 
water,  cucumber,  and  such  emollients,  and  Gret  looked  at 
it  doubtfully.  However,  she  applied  it  dutifully  to  the 
smooth,  brown  skin  of  her  face ;  and  then  underwent  the 
novel  sensation  of  having  her  waist  pulled  down  at  the 
back  and  loosened  gracefully  in  front,  and  of  having  her 
hair,  plentiful,  but  heavy  and  straight,  pulled  loosely  over 
her  forehead  and  coiled  in  loose  and  pretty  fashion  at  the 
back  of  what  Maude  discovered  to  be  a  small,  well-shaped 
head.  All  this  done,  Maude  surveyed  her  handiwork. 
She  longed  to  complete  the  work  by  winding  a  dainty  rib- 
bon round  the  girl's  neck,  but  something,  some  dig- 
nity which  she  felt  might  be  on  edge  just  now,  prevented 
her.  However,  even  so,  she  was  very  satisfied  with  her 
work  and  the  change  even  such  slight  improvements  ef- 
fected in  her  charge. 


A  GREAT  SURPRISE  231 

At  the  table  Gret  was  treated  as  if  she  had  sat  there  a 
hundred  times  before,  and,  of  course,  not  the  least  ap- 
parent notice  was  taken  of  her  actions.  Nevertheless, 
she  knew  very  well  that  nothing  she  did  or  left  undone 
would  go  unobserved.  Any  discomfort  or  embarrassment 
caused  by  this  knowledge,  however,  was  only  manifest  in 
a  greater  deliberation  of  manner  than  usual.  Mrs. 
Silway  had  always  insisted  on  strictly  conventional  be- 
havior at  table,  so  that  Gret  had  little  to  fear  from  irreg- 
ularities of  this  kind;  still  the  fare  she  was  accustomed 
to  was  very  simple,  and  there  were  several  dishes  on  the 
mill-house  table  to  the  manipulation  of  which  she  was  a 
stranger.  But  Gret  was  wary ;  she  took  nothing  that  she 
had  not  previously  been  able  to  notice  the  others  handle. 
Altogether  she  made  few  mistakes,  and  her  lack  of  ease 
was  veiled  beneath  stolidity.  She  was  cool  and  shrewd, 
two  very  essential  attributes  in  dealing  with  the  unknown. 

Mrs.  Baring  expressed  herself  afterward  to  Ludlowe 
as  very  well  satisfied,  all  things  considered. 

"She  is  very  smart,"  she  declared  impressively.  "She  '11 
never  have  to  see  a  thing  but  once.  And  I  really  think 
that  with  a  little  decent  dressing  she  can  be  made  to  look 
quite  handsome." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Ludlowe  judicially. 
"She  never  will  be  pretty,  but  she  '11  always  have  a  sort 
of  distinction  that  to  my  mind  is  worth  more  than  looks." 

"Oh,  certainly,  I  agree  with  you,"  assented  Mrs.  Baring 
with  emphasis.  "That  's  what  I  value  about  her  so  much 
—that  something  striking,  I  don't  exactly  know  what." 

"Poise,"  decided  Ludlowe  promptly;  "nothing  but 
poise— perfect  poise  of  mind  and  body." 

"Perhaps  that  is  it,"  allowed  Mrs.  Baring.  "I  have 
great  hopes  of  her;  really  I  have."  And  Ludlowe  smiled, 
perhaps  merely  in  pleased  assent. 

Mrs.    Baring  took   to   breathing   such    sentiments   to 


232  GRET 

Maude— with  important  reservations,  as  may  be  imag- 
ined. And  then  presently  she  confided  in  that  lady  her  in- 
tention of  taking  Gret  back  to  San  Francisco  with  her. 
She  felt  herself  somewhat  indebted  to  Gret  for  valuable 
aid  rendered  Bobbie  at  a  critical  time  in  his  business  ca- 
reer, she  explained,  and  Maude  accepted  the  explanation 
with  her  usual  indifferent  gravity.  Secretly  she  was  a 
little  astonished  that  Mrs.  Baring  should  go  to  the  length 
of  having  Gret  visit  her  in  her  home,  though  she  was  able 
to  fill  out  to  her  own  entire  satisfaction  that  lady's  some- 
what meager  explanation  of  motive.  Mrs.  Baring  had 
noticed— indeed,  she  had  called  Maude's  attention  to  it 
more  than  once— the  evident  liking  of  Arthur  and  Gret 
for  each  other.  Arthur  was  somewhat  of  a  celebrity  in 
his  way,  and  Gret,  were  she  ever  to  be  his  wife,  would  be 
more  of  one ;  socially  it  might  pay  to  advance  their  inter- 
ests. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   PLANS   OF    MEN 

AFTER  having  expressed  his  wishes  to  his  aunt,  and 
^  thus  given,  for  the  time  being,  at  any  rate,  all  nec- 
essary impetus  to  affairs,  Ludlowe  was  content  to  sit  back 
and  calmly  watch  the  course  of  events  as  they  rolled  along 
the  path  of  his  prescribing.  In  accounting  to  the  public 
for  actions  to  be  taken,  Ludlowe  had  given  his  aunt  free 
rein,  and  it  amused  him  to  note  with  what  diplomacy, 
according  to  that  good  lady's  ideas,  but  duplicity  accord- 
ing to  Ludlowe's,  she  guided  into  convenient  channels 
the  thoughts  and  beliefs  of  her  companions. 

On  the  other  hand,  and  also  in  secret,  Gret,  too,  was 
amused.  She  allowed  herself  to  be  cultivated  with  a  de- 
parture from  her  usual  reserve  that  she  sometimes  feared 
was  almost  too  sudden.  Though  sifted  down  to  a  fine 
point,  Ludlowe's  was  about  the  only  observing  intelli- 
gence that  she  feared. 

Her  time  was  certainly  very  much  occupied  in  the  days 
that  followed.  She  spent  one  way  or  another  quite  a  por- 
tion of  her  time  with  the  mill-house  fraternity ;  and  then 
she  would  not  forsake  her  place  at  the  camp  counsels,  nor 
neglect  the  call  Eva  had  come  to  have  on  her  evenings. 
No  matter  how  tempting  the  project  for  the  cool  of  the 
evening,  the  thought  of  the  gentle,  patient  girl  waiting  on 
the  bluff  at  home  would  send  Gret  speeding  to  her.  Eva 
read  and  dreamed  the  day  away  very  contentedly ;  it  was 
entirely  the  life  of  her  choice.    But  when  evening  came 

233 


234  GRET 

she  watched  for  Gret ;  and  that  day  greatly  lacked  some- 
thing which  was  not  rounded  off  by  the  twilight  talk  on 
the  bluff. 

Of  late  she  had  become  greatly  entranced  with  the 
work  of  a  modern  authoress  of  most  quaintly  fanciful 
turn.  So  taken  was  she  with  this  lady's  sentiments  that 
she  insisted  each  evening  on  reading  certain  portions  of 
her  works  to  Gret,  and  each  evening  Gret  amiably  strove 
to  get  into  touch  with  a  mind  the  exact  opposite  of  her 
own,  failing  on  the  whole,  it  must  be  admitted ;  for  Gret 
had  no  more  imagination  than  a  bird.  If  she  had  had,  she 
probably  would  not  have  possessed  the  power  she  had  of 
dealing  with  actual  events. 

"I  think  that 's  such  a  nice  idea— 'Like  a  bird  in  a  forest 
calling  aloud  if  perchance  somewhere  its  mate  might 
hear,' "  said  Eva,  closing  the  book  over  her  fingers. 
"Don't  you,  Gret?" 

Gret  fidgeted  on  the  sward  in  her  endeavor  to  be  sym- 
pathetic.   "Well,  what  is  it  does  that?" 

"Why,  one's  heart."  Eva  laid  her  head  back  on  the 
moss  and  gazed  at  the  serene  darkening  blue  of  the  sky. 
"You  see,  she  believes  all  through  that  one's  own  will 
surely  come  to  one ;  no  need  to  go  out  and  seek.  I  'm  so 
glad  of  that." 

"Humph!  May  be  all  right  in  books,"  said  Gret  the 
unbelieving. 

Eva  turned  her  head  on  the  moss  the  better  to  look  at 
her  sister.  "Well,  if  you  go  out  and  rush  to  and  fro  in 
life  what  do  you  get?" 

"There  's  no  telling,"  practically ;  "something,  anyhow. 
If  you  don't  get  your  own  you  can  get  somebody  else's. 
Somebody,"  added  Gret  wickedly,  "who  is  waiting  at 
home  for  her  own  to  come  to  her." 

Eva  laughed  good-humoredly.  "You  bad  old  Gret!" 
she  sighed.    "No,  but  I  see  you  don't  catch  the  meaning 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  235 

of  the  thing-,  the  real  meaning.  If  you  did  you  'd  know 
you  could  n't  take  anybody  else's." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Gret  finally,  "if  one's  own  is 
bound  to  come  to  one  it  does  n't  matter  where  one  is. 
Much  less  dull  to  be  about  doing  things  than  sitting  at 
home  waiting." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Eva  absently.  Then  with  interest: 
"Have  you  ever  been  in  love,  Gret  ?" 

"Don't  know,"  with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  but— of  course  you  know.  Don't  you  love  any- 
body?" 

"Yes-you." 

"Oh,  well,"  impatiently ;  "but  I  mean  a  man !" 

"How  can  one  tell?"  inquired  Gret,  scoffingly.  "Can 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  could,"  raising  her  head,  the  large, 
soft  eyes  opening  wide  for  a  moment.  "It  must  be  beau- 
tiful to  love— really  love.    Would  n't  you  think  so,  Gret?" 

Gret  thought  for  a  moment,  a  sort  of  resentful  curl  on 
her  lip.  "No !"  she  said  bluntly  then.  "I  think  it  's  only 
a  kind  of  biting  and  rage  deep  down  in  one's  heart  all 
the  time." 

Eva  listened  unimpressed  to  this  novel  presentation  of 
love.  It  did  not  concur  with  hers  in  the  least.  She  her- 
self was  steeped  in  sentiment  from  head  to  foot.  Natu- 
rally imaginative  and  sentimental,  her  life  fostered  these 
tendencies.  Just  now,  like  most  young  women  of  her 
kind  with  nothing  particular  to  do,  she  was  craving  for 
romance,  for  a  lover  of  her  own,  really  her  own,  not  read 
of  in  books  and  appropriated  in  imagination. 

"Robin  's  going  to  read  this  book,"  she  observed  after 
a  pause. 

"Robin!"  echoed  Gret  in  amused  surprise. 

"Yes.  He  came  up  this  afternoon  when  I  was  reading 
it,"  explained  Eva.     "He  asked  what  kind  of  a  book  it 


236  GRET 

was,  and  when  I  told  him  he  said  he  'd  Hke  to  read  it 
and  then  he  'd  come  up  and  tell  me  what  he  thought  of 
it." 

"Oh,  yes !  He  '11  take  it  home,  look  at  the  beginning 
and  the  end,  and  then  bring  it  back  and  say  he  thinks  it  's 
lovely !"  laughed  Gret. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  don't  think  so,"  gently.  "I  should  know  if 
he  did  that.    He  said  he  'd  read  it,  and  I  think  he  will." 

"Oh,  he  might ;  might  take  a  streak  of  liking  that  sort 
of  thing;  get  all  wrapped  up  in  it  and  want  more,"  said 
Gret  out  of  the  infinity  of  her  experience.  "I  expect  he  's 
pretty  dull  just  now,  anyhow.    What  did  he  want— me?" 

"He  did  n't  say;  but,  of  course,  he  did,"  answered  Eva. 
"That  's  what  he  always  does  come  for." 

"I  wonder  whether  anything  's  gone  wrong,"  mused 
Gret.  "I  must  go  up  one  of  these  days  and  see  how 
things  are  going  on." 

She  was  saved  that  trouble,  however.  The  very  next 
night  Robin  rowed  down,  tied  his  boat  up,  mounted  the 
steps  and  seated  himself  near  the  two  girls  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction. 

"Hallo,  Rob!"  said  Gret  cordially.  "Anything  gone 
wrong  ?" 

"No,  nothing  in  particular." 

"All  wrong,  I  suppose,"  observed  Gret. 

"Yes;  awful  job  living  up  there  with  those  two,  I  can 
tell  you,"  said  Robin  wearily. 

Gret  smiled,  reflecting  that  he  had  managed  to  do  it  all 
his  life  so  far.  "Yes.  Still,  I  expect  it  's  easier  than 
working  out  for  a  living,"  she  observed.  "Is  uncle  any 
nicer  to  you  yet  ?" 

"Yes,  a  little;  tells  me  what  he  wants  done,  and  all 
that." 

"Well,  we  never  thought  he  'd  make  up  in  a  hurry," 
said  Gret  sagely ;  "he  's  not  that  kind.    But  you'  11  come 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  237 

out  all  right  if  you  keep  on  being  careful.  What  does 
Widow  Bennett  think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  think  she  knows  what  to  think,"  replied  Robin 
with  a  slight  laugh  and  the  air  of  one  taking  but  little 
interest  in  the  subject. 

"Has  she  ever  asked  you  anything?"  queried  Gret. 

"Yes ;  asked  me  once  or  twice  whether  I'd  given  up  the 
idea  of  going  to  Portland." 

"Not  when  uncle  was  by?" 

"No." 

"Ah!"  said  Gret  exultingly.  "And  what  did  you  say?" 

"Said  I  was  waiting  for  Cecil  to  get  me  in." 

"Think  she  believed  it?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"That  's  right,"  approvingly,  and  smiling  at  the  wid- 
ow's helpless  credulity.  "And  so  you  're  just  dull,  and 
come  to  talk  for  a  while,  h'm  ?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Robin  with  a  very  taking  assumption 
of  wistfulness.  "You  don't  mind,  do  you?"  The  ques- 
tion was  addressed  to  both  of  them. 

Eva  smiled  in  her  languid  but  altogether  sweet  way. 
"No,  indeed !" 

And  Gret,  her  keen  ear  catching  a  peculiar  note  some- 
where, glanced  sharply  at  him  and  answered  in  her 
brusque  fashion,  "Of  course  not.  What  do  you  want  to 
ask  a  crazy  question  like  that  for  ?" 

However,  from  that  point  on  conversation  seemed  to 
languish,  try  how  they  might  to  revive  it.  And  it  was  not 
until  almost  time  for  Robin  to  start  home  that  it  really 
began  to  flow  freely  as  of  old.  Gret  was  greatly  puzzled, 
and  could  not  tell  at  all  what  the  change  was  that  had 
come  over  some  one  or  something.  However,  Robin 
took  the  promised  book,  and  agreed  to  come  down  again 
on  the  second  night  and  render  his  verdict  on  the  much 
discussed  work. 


238  GRET 

"Robin  's  getting— I  don't  know  what,"  observed  Gret, 
frowning  on  the  receding  boat.  "He  never  did  have  much 
sense,  but  he  used  to  be  jolly.  Now  he  is  n't  even 
that." 

"Why,  I  think  he  's  nice,"  said  Eva  stoutly.  "Grown 
so  big,  too.  Seems  to  have  grown  into  a  man  all  of  a 
sudden." 

"Oh,  he  's  as  big  as  he  ever  will  be,  of  course,"  an- 
swered Gret,  not  so  greatly  impressed ;  "but  it  's  growing 
the  mustache  that  makes  him  look  a  man  so  suddenly. 
Then,  of  course,— I  suppose  he  is  a  man." 

Eva  nodded  thoughtfully,  and  Gret  was  quiet  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  she  said  reflectively :  "Dull !  How  funny 
he  should  get  dull  suddenly  like  that.  He  's  got  as  much 
company  now  as  he  ever  had.  It  's  not  that.  He  's  got 
something  on  his  mind." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Gret.  You  used  to  be  a  great  com- 
panion of  his,  but  since  the  mill  people  came  you  dropped 
him  altogether,"  said  Eva  in  gentle  reproach. 

Gret  opened  her  eyes  at  this  view  of  matters.  Then 
she  laughed  in  sheer  amusement.  "I  dropped  him  before 
that,"  she  said  truthfully  enough. 

However,  when  two  nights  later  Robin  appeared,  as  ap- 
pointed, conversation  ran  smoothly  enough,  having  for 
excellent  start  the  book  under  discussion.  Robin  sided  en- 
tirely with  Eva's  views  of  the  question,  and  Gret  fought 
them  both  with  great  display  of  scorn  and  much  real 
amusement.  The  evening  passed  genially  and  quickly, 
and  the  faint  instinctive  feeling  of  uneasiness  in  Gret's 
mind  wore  off.  After  that  she  apparently  thought  noth- 
ing of  it  when,  as  was  often  the  case,  Robin  joined  the 
literary  conclave  on  the  bluff. 

Toward  the  end  of  August  Mrs.  Baring  broached  the 
subject  of  the  visit  to  Gret. 

"How  would  you  like  to  come  back  with  us  and  spend 


•      THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  239 

a  month  or  so  in  San  Francisco  ?"  she  inquired  in  a  casual 
way  one  afternoon. 

Gret's  eyes  opened.  Such  an  invitation  was  genuinely 
unexpected  and  unforeseen,  and  she  was  amazed  at  her 
own  good  fortune  and  at  the  happy  way  in  which  circum- 
stances seemed  about  to  fit  in  with  her  plans.  For  Gret 
had  made  up  her  mind  by  some  means  or  other  to  visit 
San  Francisco  herself  that  winter,  and  had  intended 
pressing  Mrs.  Baring  into  service  as  chaperone.  As  far 
as  money  went  she  would  have  been  able  to  carry  out  her 
designs,  for  though  she  had  long  ago  ceased  to  accept 
anything  from  the  mill  profits,  recognizing  that  the  time 
had  gone  by  when  her  advice  or  help  was  of  any  vital  im- 
portance, yet  she  still  had  lying  safely  in  the  little  bank 
at  Quellish  most  of  the  money  earned  in  the  days  of  the 
early  struggles.  She  had  often  been  tempted  in  many 
ways  to  spend  it,  but  had  each  time  resisted  temptation, 
it  being  borne  in  upon  her  that  some  day  her  desires  and 
her  financial  ability,  if  represented  by  her  father,  would 
clash  sadly.  In  the  San  Francisco  project  she  had  ex- 
pected many  difficulties  to  overcome,  and  was  delighted 
with  the  new  turn  in  affairs. 

"I  should  very  much,"  she  responded  unhesitatingly. 

"Well,  we  must  try  and  arrange  it,"  went  on  Mrs.  Ba- 
ring suavely.  "I  must  call  and  see  Mrs.  Silway  about  it. 
Do  you  imagine  she  will  have  any  objections  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  mother  will,"  replied  Gret.  "I  think 
she  '11  be  quite  willing.  Father  's  the  one  that  will  have 
something  to  say." 

"Well,  I  must  talk  him  over ;  that  is,  if  I  can  see  him," 
said  Mrs.  Baring.  "But  he  never  seems  to  be  at  home. 
Is  your  father  a  difficult  man  to  get  on  with  ?" 

"Difficult !"  echoed  Gret.  She  said  no  more,  but  the  lit- 
tle laugh  and  curling  lip  added  volumes.  Then,  suddenly 
reflecting  that  Mrs.  Baring  might,  in  the  light  of  these 


240  GRET 

revelations,  reconsider  her  idea  of  applying  for  the  per- 
mission in  question,  she  added  quickly.  "But  you  won't 
find  him  so.     You  '11  think  him  awfully  nice!" 

Mrs.  Baring  laughed  and  allowed  the  matter  to  drop. 
But  that  evening  at  dinner  she  expressed  her  opinions  to 
the  table  at  large. 

"You  know,  I  really  imagine  they  're  virtually  separa- 
ted, but  remain  nominally  together  for  the  sake  of  the 
children." 

But  Bobbie  and  Bertie,  on  the  strength  of  long  intimacy 
with  Gret,  and  Ludlowe  by  virtue  of  an  intuitive  mind  and 
the  ability  to  gather  facts  from  trifles,  scouted  the  idea. 

"He  's  a  selfish  bear,  that  's  all,"  declared  Bobbie  con- 
fidently. "And  his  family  are  so  glad  to  have  him  away 
that  they  make  no  kick  at  the  very  small  share  of  pros- 
perity that  comes  their  way." 

Gret  went  home  and  informed  her  mother  of  the  visit 
to  be  paid  her  some  time  in  the  near  future,  and  also  of 
its  motive.    Mrs.  Silway  was  surprised. 

"Why,  I  gathered  from  the  way  you  talked  that  you 
did  n't  like  this  Mrs.  Baring,"  she  said,  looking  inquir- 
ingly across  the  table  at  the  undisturbed  Gret. 

"I  did  n't." 

"But  you  do  now  ?" 

Gret  looked  up  at  her  mother  with  a  smile  so  roguish 
that  her  face  for  the  moment  was  absolutely  winsome. 
"I  'd  like  to  go  to  San  Francisco !"  she  said  demurely. 

Mrs.  Silway  smiled  too.  "Well,  I  shall  offer  no  objec- 
tions. It  would  be  a  most  wholesome  change  for  you. 
Your  father  is  the  one  to  consider." 

"I  know,"  assented  Gret.  "That  's  what  I  told  Mrs. 
Baring— that  I  knew  you  'd  let  me  go,  but  that  father 
would  be  the  one  to  stand  in  the  way,  if  any  one  did." 

"You  should  n't  display  family  matters  too  much  be- 
fore strangers,"  said  Mrs.  Silway  quietly. 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  241 

."I  don't  think  I  do— much,"  said  Gret,  after  a  moment's 
unbiased  consideration  of  the  matter;  "but  it  's  no  good 
pretending  father  's  good  to  us,  and  all  that,  when  he 
is  n't." 

"Pretend  nothing  at  all,  merely  leave  the  matter  undis- 
cussed," instructed  Mrs.  Silway.  And  then  she  went  on 
reflectively,  "Well,  if  she  asks  your  father  herself,  in  all 
probability  he  would  not  refuse  her." 

"Yes.  I  '11  tell  her  all  that,"  said  Gret  with  a  nod.  "We 
mus'  n't  say  anything  about  it  to  him  ourselves." 

"And  you  '11  have  to  have  a  complete  outfit,  too," 
mused  Mrs.  Silway.  "Well,  if  your  father  agrees  to  let 
you  go,  he  '11  have  to  see  to  that." 

And  so  she  dismissed  the  matter  altogether  from  a 
mind  trained  most  obediently  to  return  to  and  remain  at 
will  in  those  calm  regions  of  philosophy  and  study  where 
the  troublous  waves  of  life  never  break  in  to  dis- 
turb. But  Gret  and  Eva  discussed  it  far  into  the  even- 
ing. 

"Do  you  really  like  to  go  ?"  queried  Eva,  staring  at  her 
sister. 

"Yes,  of  course.  Would  n't  you  ?" 

"No,  indeed !"  in  a  heartfelt  way,  "I  'd  hate  to  live  with 
strangers  and  have  to  do  all  they  did !" 

"Why,  I  don't  know  that  I  will  have  to  do  all  they  do," 
said  Gret,  surprised  at  such  a  view  of  matters. 

"Of  course  you  will.  You  '11  have  to  go  out  when  they 
do  and  come  in  when  they  do,  and  go  to  bed  and  get  up 
when  they  do,  and,  oh,  you  '11  just  have  to  wait  till  they 
do  everything  before  you  can  do  it,"  explained  Eva.  "Be- 
sides, fancy  meeting  strangers  every  day— fresh  ones  all 
the  time !" 

Gret  laughed.  "I  sha'n't  mind  that.  And  then,  if  I 
don't  like  it  I  can  always  come  home.  But  just  think 
what  I  '11  see— a  big  city,  and  how  people  live  in  it,  and 

16 


242  GRET 

—oh,  you  know,  civilization  altogether.  Besides,  I  'm  not 
so  scared  of  strangers  as  you  are !" 

**I  'm  not  scared  of  them.  I  just  don't  like  them,"  said 
Eva.     "How  Iqng  will  you  stay,  Gret?" 

"Oh,  a  month  or  so,  I  suppose.  As  long  as  she  asks 
me  to." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  awfully  glad  when  you  get  back,"  ob- 
served Eva  somewhat  disconsolately. 

"I  'm  not  gone  yet,"  responded  Gret  tritely.  "Don't  let 
us  say  anything  about  it  until  I  am  really  going.  Be  so 
silly  if  I  did  n't  go  after  all." 

And  this  was  agreed  upon.  Nevertheless,  somehow  or 
other,  a  rumor  of  her  proposed  visit  crept  about  and 
reached  the  camp  before  long,  its  members,  individually 
and  collectively,  being  sincerely  disgusted  at  the  receipt 
of  it.  Hearing  one  day  that  it  had  got  about  and  been 
discussed  at  the  camp  the  evening  before,  Gret  went  to  the 
camp  the  very  next  morning  for  breakfast  and  slid  quietly 
into  her  seat  by  Dick.  She  had  not  to  wait  long  for  the 
expression  of  opinions  she  had  come  prepared  to  hear; 
she  was  immediately  taken  to  task  by  at  least  half  a  dozen 
of  the  older  hands,  those  who  from  long  residence  in  the 
camp  were  very  intimate,  and  taxed  with  a  desire  to  enter 
the  ranks  of  swelldom. 

"Suppose,"  said  Oly  scornfully,  "when  you  come  back 
there  '11  be  no  getting  near  you." 

"Of  course  not,"  agreed  Gret,  carefully  refraining  from 
anything  that  might  be  constrained  into  administering 
comfort.  "I  shall  be  able  to  see  what  a  lot  of  hobos  you 
really  are." 

"How  long  will  you  stay,  Gret?"  inquired  Dick.  His 
head  rested  on  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  scanned  the  girl's 
face  reflectively. 

"About  a  month,  I  suppose." 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  243 

"Don't  worry,"  put  in  Jake,  holding  converse,  as  usual, 
from  the  doorway.  "She  '11  be  so  tired  of  all  that  high- 
falutin'  business  in  two  weeks  that  she  '11  come  back 
quicker  'n  she  went." 

"Well,  anyhow,  I  expect  I  can  get  all  the  pie  I  want 
down  there,"  observed  Gret  maliciously. 

"Yes.  And  I  can  take  a  lay-off  the  while,"  retorted 
Jake. 

"What  '11  you  do  if  your  pa  won't  let  you  go  ?"  inquired 
Cassidy,  stepping  quickly  into  the  breach. 

"Stay  at  home,"  replied  Gret,  smiling. 

"Not  if  I  know  you,"  said  Oly  decisively. 

Gret  glanced  at  him,  the  faintest  flicker  of  a  smile  ris- 
ing and  dying  in  her  eyes.  Then  she  glanced  at  Dick, 
whose  steady  blue  eyes  were  still  regarding  her  curiously, 
and  ended  her  scrutiny  with  a  survey  of  Jake's  sage  coun- 
tenance framed  in  the  doorway.  And  there  was  a  slight 
softening  of  the  wide,  firm  lips.  These  rough  men,  who 
all  her  life  had  been  so  good  and  gentle  to  her,  had  a 
more  abiding  place  in  Gret's  heart  than  she  knew. 

In  spite  of  assurances  to  the  contrary  from  Bobbie 
and  Bertie,  both  of  whom  had  been  once  or  twice  in  her 
presence,  Mrs.  Baring  started  for  the  Silway  residence 
prepared  to  meet  a  downtrodden,  resigned  woman,  who 
would  probably  be  more  or  less  embarrassed  during  her 
call.  Needless  to  say,  she  was  astonished  at  the  reality. 
Margaret  Silway  saw  her  coming  as  she  sat  reading  on 
the  veranda,  and  closing  her  book  rose  to  meet  her, 
standing  at  the  head  of  the  steps  until  her  guest  ap- 
proached. Her  attitude  was  repose,  her  face  serenity. 
The  many  ambitions,  the  little  jealousies  and  little  victo- 
ries, the  hopes  and  fears  and  worries  and  delights  that  go 
to  make  up  the  life  of  the  average  woman  were  mere 
names  now  to  Margaret  Silway.  She  was  not  embar- 


244  GRET 

rassed,  or  hampered  by  the  consideration  of  what  kind  of 
an  opinion  her  visitor  was  going  to  form  of  her  and  her 
surroundings,  because  it  was  a  matter  of  not  the  faintest 
moment.  Indeed,  she  never  even  thought  of  it.  Still,  in 
her  rather  cold  way,  she  was  very  courteous. 

"This  must  be  Mrs.  Baring,  I  know,"  she  said  with  a 
welcoming  smile.  "In  this  locality  it  could  not  possibly 
be  any  one  else." 

"I  suppose  not,"  Mrs.  Baring  laughed— the  little  society 
laugh  that  of  late  had  been  very  appropriately  dropped. 
"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Silway?  Oh  yes,  I  think  it  would 
be  so  much  pleasanter  to  remain  out  here,"  in  response  to 
an  inquiry  from  her  hostess.  "Dear  me!"  sinking  into 
the  seat  drawn  forward  for  her.  "How  very  pleasant  it 
is  up  here!"  She  gazed  round  upon  the  splendid  pano- 
rama spread  beneath  her  in  surprise.  "Why,  I  never 
would  have  believed  the  difference  between  this  and  the 
level  of  the  river  where  we  live.  Dear  me !  It  is  pleas- 
ant ;  so  cool,  too.    I  don't  wonder  you  never  leave  it." 

"I  am  very  attached  to  the  spot,"  assented  Mrs.  Silway. 

"Your  younger  daughter,  too,  quite  takes  after  you  in 
opinions  evidently,"  commented  Mrs.  Baring,  with  a 
smile  in  the  direction  oi  Eva,  who  lay  reading  under  the 
low-spreading  boughs  of  her  favorite  tree,  an  enormous 
spruce. 

"Yes— oh,  yes,  quite,"  agreed  Mrs.  Silway.  "But  the 
same  can't  be  said  for  the  elder  one." 

"No,  indeed !"  laughed  Mrs.  Baring.  "The  amount  of 
energy  daily  expended  by  Gret  in  covering  superficial 
area  is  positively  alarming.  Still,  I  am  very  much  taken 
with  her.  I  think  with  suitable  opportunities  she  would 
carve  a  very  marked  future  for  herself." 

"Yes,  I  think  so  m3^self,"  assented  Mrs.  Silway.  "She 
has  decided  force  of  character." 

"That  is  one  of  the  things  I  wanted  to  see  you  about— 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  245 

Gret,  I  mean  "  went  on  Mrs.  Baring-.  "I  want,  if  I  can 
gain  vour  consent,  to  take  her  back  to  San  Francisco  with 
me."' 

"It  would  be  a  nice  change  for  her,  and  I  should  like 
her  to  have  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Silway  quietly.  "But  Mr. 
Silway,  of  course,  might  not  agree." 

"Oh,  we  must  talk  him  over,"  confidently ;  "that  is,  if 
he  should  come  down  before  I  go." 

"When  do  you  think  of  returning  to  San  Francisco, 
then,  Mrs.  Baring?"  inquired  Mrs.  Silway. 

"Oh  not  until  about  the  end  of  September,"  replied  that 
lady.    "In  fact,  not  until  this  nice  weather  gives  out." 

"Oh,  well,  then,  he  will  undoubtedly  be  here  before 
then,"  said  Mrs.  Silway.  "I  expect. him  home  about  the 
end  of  the  month." 

"Oh,  then,  I  Ve  no  doubt  we  can  arrange  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Baring  confidently.  "We  would  all  like  to  have  Gret 
with  us.  Though  not  understanding  her  at  all  at  first,  we 
have  become  so  accustomed  to  her  that  she  seems  like  one 
of  the  family." 

Mrs.  Silway  smiled.  "She  is  very  uncompromising  in 
her  attitudes,"  she  observed,  her  eyes  resting  on  the  bluff, 
on  the  top  of  which  Robin  Start  had  just  appeared.  He 
looked  quickly  round,  noticed  Eva  in  the  shade  of  the  tree, 
made  a  detour  of  the  house  and  approached  her.  Appar- 
ently he  made  some  request ;  and  apparently,  too,  Eva  de- 
murred, for  he  threw  himself  on  the  sward  and  appeared 
to  argue  with  her.  Finally  Eva  rose,  and  again  hesitated. 
She  seemed  to  wish  to  approach  her  mother,  but  hesitated, 
Mrs.  Silway  judged,  on  account  of  Mrs.  Baring's  pres- 
ence.    Then  Robin  approached  the  veranda  steps. 

"Mrs.  Silway,  Eva  is  just  corning  with  me  to  see  a 
family  of  coon-kittens  up  the  river." 

Mrs.  Silway  nodded,  smiling.    "Very  well." 

The  two  went  off,  watched  with  more  or  less  curiosity 


246  GRET 

by  both  women,  who  for  the  next  half  hour  conversed 
together  on  such  topics  as  could  form  neutral  ground  be- 
tween their  widely  diverging  personalities.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  interview  Mrs.  Baring  spent  her  conversa- 
tional energies  in  adroit— or  so  she  imagined— efforts  at 
eliciting  information  concerning  Mrs.  Silway's  family, 
career,  etc.,  and  went  away  well  content  with  the  fruits 
of  her  diplomatic  probings,  having,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
learned  exactly  as  much  as  Mrs.  Silway  intended  her  to 
know  and  no  more. 

"I  can  quite  see  where  Gret  gets  her  self-possession," 
she  told  Maude  afterward  in  relating  to  that  lady  particu- 
lars of  the  visit.  "The  mother  is  self-possession  itself. 
Rather  distinguished-looking,  too,  and  was  of  excellent 
family.    I  find  she  is  one  of  the  Lederers  of  Baltimore." 

"Oh,  is  she?"  said  Maude,  who  would  have  been  just  as 
much  interested  to  learn  that  the  absent  woman  was  a 
member  of  any  other  family. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Silway,  left  alone  once  more,  mused  a 
few  moments  on  this  creature  from  the  old  world  that 
had  just  been  with  her.  Then  she  stretched  out  her  hand 
and  took  up  her  book  again  with  a  feeling  of  added  con- 
tentment and  serenity. 

Gret  came  home  for  dinner,  and  as  she  reached  the  top 
of  the  bluff  looked  quickly  round  for  Eva. 

"Has  Eva  got  a  headache,  mother  ?"  she  asked,  coming 
and  seating  herself  on  one  of  the  veranda  steps. 

"No;  she  went  up  the  river  with  Robin  to  see  some 
coon-kittens,"  replied  Mrs.  Silway. 

"She  did !"  Gret's  eyes  opened  as  big  as  saucers.  "Why, 
how  did  he  ever  get  her  to  go?  I  never  can  get  her  to 
go  out." 

"I  fancy  she  did  protest,"  said  her  mother,  smiling; 
"but  you  know  how  insistent  Robin  can  be  when  he  wants 
anything." 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  247 

Gret  nodded,  still  gazing  widely  at  her  mother.  "Well," 
she  said  then,  "I  'm  very  glad.  Eva  is  altogether  too  shy, 
and  perhaps  she  '11  get  over  that  if  she  goes  out  a  little 
more.  It  's  so  funny,  though,  for  Robin  to  bother,"  she 
concluded,  the  puzzled  expression  coming  back  to  her 
eyes. 

"He  probably  wanted  company  on  his  expedition  to  see 
the  kittens,  and  Eva  was  the  only  person  available,"  haz- 
arded her  mother. 

Gret  nodded  again.  "Very  likely.  Whose  kittens, 
Sam  Davis'?" 

"He  merely  said  a  man  up  the  river,"  replied  Mrs.  Sil- 
way. 

"Well,  they  must  be  pretty  old  kittens,"  observed  Gret 
thoughtfully. 

"Must  they?"  Mrs.  Silway  was  consulting  her  watch. 
"I  think  Eva  is  going  to  be  late  for  dinner.  We  have  just 
ten  minutes  to  wash,  Gret." 

Just  as  dinner  was  on  the  table  Eva  came  hurrying  in. 
The  first  pretty  flush  of  sunburn  was  on  her  face,  and  her 
manner  was  shyly  animated. 

"Well,"  observed  Gret,  "you  did  manage  to  go  out,  did 
you?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Eva  hurriedly,  looking  rather  more  em- 
barrassed than  the  occasion  seemed  to  call  for.  "I  went 
up  to  see  the  baby-coons.  Are  n't  they  sweet  ?  Have  you 
seen  them,  Gret?" 

"I  've  seen  lots  of  them,"  answered  Gret. 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  Gret  seemed  to  wait  for 
Eva  to  proceed  with  her  experiences  and  Eva  seemed  to 
find  nothing  to  say.  Then  Mrs.  Silway  unconsciously  en- 
tered the  gap  with  the  remark  to  Gret  that  Mrs.  Baring 
had  been  there  that  afternoon. 

Eva's  next  venture  abroad  was  a  still  more  ambitious 
one.     She  went  down  to  Quellish  with  Robin  and  Gret, 


248  GRET 

her  only  stipulation  on  starting  being  that  she  should  not 
be  required  to  meet  strangers.  Apparently  she  enjoyed 
the  trip  immensely,  but  she  refused  absolutely  to  go  up 
into  the  camp  or  down  to  the  mill-house ;  and  when  Gret 
rushed  home  one  day  with  an  invitation  for  her  to  make 
one  of  the  party  going  to  Quellish  in  the  little  launch,  no 
persuasions  on  earth  would  induce  her  to  accept. 

As  Robin  began  to  spend  quite  a  portion  of  his  time 
on  the  bluff  with  Eva,  on  the  river,  or  taking  one  or  both 
girls  out  here  and  there,  Gret  thought  it  advisable  one 
day  to  administer  a  warning. 

"Don't  forget,  now,  what  you  're  watching  out  for  up 
there.  You  've  been  getting  along  very  well  so  far ;  but 
mind  you  don't  spoil  it  all.  Remember,  you  may  go  off 
watch  for  a  time,  but  the  Widow  Bennett  won't." 

"I  'm  not.  I  do  all  my  work  before  I  go  out,"  replied 
Robin,  looking  sulky  and  injured  instantly. 

Gret  gave  her  shoulders  a  queer  little  Frenchified 
shrug.  ''It  's  nothing  to  me,"  she  observed  coolly. 
"How  's  uncle  getting  along  ?" 

"First  rate,"  responded  Robin,  it  must  be  admitted, 
very  discontentedly.  "Last  week  the  heat  seemed  to  make 
him  very  short  of  breath,  but  this  week  he  's  been  out  and 
round  the  place  again." 

Gret  nodded  gravely.  "Still  you  can  never  tell,"  she 
observed  a  trifle  indefinitely.  And  then  dropped  the  sub- 
ject. 

But  old  John  Start  contrived  to  get  better  and 
stronger;  and  then,  just  as  people  began  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  ranking  him  as  an  active  member  again,  he  died 
suddenly  one  evening,  just  when  least  expected. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening,  and  Gret  and  Eva,  lying 
on  the  bluff,  had  just  made  up  their  minds  to  go  to  bed. 
The  light  of  the  day  had  waned  into  deep  twilight,  and 
the  peculiar  hush  and  stillness  of  sunset  was  over  every- 


THE  PLANS  OF  MEN  249 

thing,  when  round  the  bend  of  the  river  a  boat  was  heard 
coming.  Something  pecuUar  in  the  rowing  caught  on 
Gret's  ear ;  the  oars  wriggled  noisily  in  the  rowlocks  and 
the  stroke  was  uneven,  now  deep  and  now  splashy  like 
that  of  a  person  in  most  urgent  hurry.  Gret  sat  up  and 
watched,  her  keen  eyes  frowning  into  the  shadows. 

"It  's  Robin !"  she  exclaimed,  long  before  Eva  could 
make  out  if  it  were  man  or  woman.  "I  'm  going  down  to 
see  what  's  the  matter.  I  '11  bet  his  uncle  's  worse."  And 
she  sprang  up  and  dashed  down  the  steps  to  the  landing. 

Robin  saw  her.  In  all  probability  he  was  looking  for 
her  to  appear,  for  he  rowed  straight  up  to  the  landing. 

"What  's  the  matter?"  inquired  Gret,  before  he  had 
fairly  reached  her. 

"Uncle  's  dead!"  he  gasped.  He  had  no  hat  on,  and 
his  eyes  stared  with  excitement,  mixed,  perhaps,  with  a 
little  fear  and  awe. 

"Sure  ?"  asked  the  ever  practical  Gret.  "I  mean,  quite 
dead?" 

"Yes,  quite,"  jerked  out  Robin.  "We  were  eating  sup- 
per—fried clams  we  had— and  all  of  a  sudden  uncle  got 
up  and  then  sat  down  again.  And  then  he  turned  blue  in 
the  face  and  died." 

Gret  listened ;  and  then  to  her  own  intense  disgust  and 
shame,  was  struck  comically  by  Robin's  odd  way  of  re- 
counting the  case.  The  vein  of  irrepressible,  and  it  al- 
most seemed  irresponsible,  fun  and  glee  in  her.  nature  as- 
serted itself  for  a  moment  and  she  broke  into  a  little  bub- 
ble of  laughter. 

"What  does  it  matter  what  color  he  turned,  you  stu- 
pid ?"  she  said  angrily  then,  endeavoring  to  cover  her  mis- 
demeanor.   "Go  on  down  for  a  doctor— quick !" 

"He  's  dead,  though,"  repeated  Robin  mechanically. 

"Well,  even  so.  You  must  get  a  doctor,  or  people  will 
say  that  perhaps  he  might  have  been  saved.    Remember 


250  GRET 

there  are  those  who  will  be  ready  to  say  you  wanted  the 
farm.   Go  on !"  pointing  down  the  river  authoritatively. 

And  Robin  picked  up  his  oars  and  hurried  on,  while 
Gret  went  back  to  the  bluff  to  tell  Eva  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

Eva  stood  gazing  at  her  sister,  her  delicate  face  show- 
ing cameo-like  in  the  misty  light. 

"And  now  Robin  will  have  the  farm,  and  be  able  to  do 
just  as  he  likes,  won't  he  ?"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  replied  Gret,  somewhat  surprised  at 
this  reception  of  the  news. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

GRET   GOES   TO   BE    CIVILIZED 

IN  the  middle  of  October  the  mill-house  party  reached 
Portland  on  their  way  to  San  Francisco.  Gret  was 
with  them. 

Mr.  Silway  had  come  down  to  Quellish  toward  the  end 
of  September,  and  a  few  days  after  his  arrival  had,  in 
company  with  his  wife,  been  invited  to  dinner  at  the  mill. 
Mrs.  Silway  did  not  appear,  pleading  a  headache,  just  as 
Mrs.  Baring  expected  she  would,  and  just  as  she  herself 
would  have  done  in  like  circumstances;  but  Mr.  Silway 
arrived,  unsuspecting  and  complacent. 

When  he  had  feasted  and  wined  and  was  in  excellent 
spirits,  Mrs.  Baring  put  forth  her  request ;  indeed,  it  was 
more  of  a  demand,  as  she  declared  she  absolutely  would 
not  take  "no"  for  an  answer.  Mr.  Silway  was  startled, 
but  quickly  summoned  up  an  array  of. excuses  and  reasons 
for  withholding  consent,  all  of  which  Mrs.  Baring, 
coached  by  Gret  down  to  the  minutest  detail,  still  more 
quickly  dispensed  with,  until  there  was  nothing  left  to  do 
but  consent  more  or  less  willingly.  So  he  consented,  and 
went  home  to  visit  his  wrath  upon  his  wife. 

"Seems  you  consented  to  let  the  girl  go,"  he  observed, 
with  that  peculiar  dog-like  twitch  of  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  characteristic  of  him  when  enraged. 

"I  certainly  did— as  far  as  my  consent  goes,"  replied 
Mrs.  Silway  calmly.  "I  think  the  change  will  be  an  ex- 
cellent thing  for  her." 


252  GRET 

"Cost  a  pretty  penny,"  declared  Mr.  Silway  savagely. 

"Oh,  nothing  more  than -you  can  well  afford,"  said  Mrs. 
Silway  comfortingly. 

"That  's  what  you  say !"  retorted  Mr.  Silway  jerkily. 
"But  you  don't  know  what  expenses  I  Ve  got  to  contend 
with,  you  see.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  I  've  got  to 
see  a  specialist  this  month." 

"No,  I  did  n't  know  it,"  looking  up  at  him  with  amiable 
interest.  "Why  ?  Is  tired  nature  giving  way  somewhere, 
then?" 

"I  don't  know  what  tired  nature  is  doing,"  v/ith  exas- 
peration. "I  know  I  don't  like  this  pain  I  have  in  my 
side  so  often.  But  of  course  it  's  no  good  coming  to  you 
for  sympathy." 

"Hardly,"  agreed  Mrs.  Silway  with  tantalizing  calm- 
ness. 

"Mr.  Silway  gasped  with  the  effort  to  control,  himself, 
and  finally,  knowing  that  to  remain  in  the  room  was  to 
increase  his  exasperation  almost  beyond  the  limits  of  en- 
durance, he  left  it  with  a  bang.  Mrs.  Silway  resumed  her 
book  with  a  smile.  In  the  early  days  of  her  married  life, 
when  she  had  nervously  done  every  conceivable  thing  to 
keep  peace  and  avoid  crossing  her  irritable  and  unreason- 
able spouse,  she  had  never  been  able  to  stem  for  a  mo- 
ment the  torrent  of  his  petulance  when  aroused ;  but  now 
that  her  eyes  were  long  since  opened  and  she  knew  him 
for  what  he  was,  now  that  in  the  utter  calm  of  contempt 
and  indifference  she  cared  not  whether  he  were  pleased 
or  vexed,  the  power  to  overcome  him  seemed  to  have  been 
given  her.    Such  was  the  contrariness  of  life. 

Nothing  further  was  said  between  them  concerning 
Gret's  proposed  visit;  but  Mr.  Silway  questioned  Gret 
herself  very  closely  on  the  matter,  being  very  little  more 
enlightened  after  the  cross-examination  than  before.  So 
the  matter  dropped  during  the  time  of  his  stay  in  Quel- 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    253 

lish.  Just  before  returning  to  Portland,  however,  he  ar- 
ranged to  meet  the  party  on  their  arrival  in  Portland. 
And  this  he  did. 

Seeing  that  there  was  no  getting  out  of  it,  Mr.  Silway 
decided  to  carry  his  part  through  graciously.  The  party 
put  up  at  the  Hotel  Portland,  which  was  also  his  head- 
quarters all  the  year  round,  or  all  of  it  spent  in  Portland, 
and  on  the  evening  of  their  arrival  he  entertained  them  all 
at  dinner. 

"This,"  said  Mrs.  Baring,  glancing  complacently  round 
the  elegantly  appointed  dining-room,  "is  a  really  fine  ho- 
tel. This  is  your  headquarters  when  away  from  home, 
Mr.  Silway?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  glancing  involuntarily  at  Gret  as  he  spoke. 
"I  have  to  be  in  some  place  central  and  well  known  com- 
mercially. You  see,  my  dealings  are  with  big  lumber 
men,  members  of  big  commercial  bodies,  and  so  forth, 
and  it  is  necessary  for  me  to— to  be  among  that  class." 

Gret  was  interestedly  gazing  down  the  long  room  with 
its  delicately  lovely  tintings  and  had  apparently  taken  no 
notice  of  his  words.  She  had  heard,  though ;  and  looking 
round  the  really  sumptuous  hotel,  the  like  of  which 
she  had,  of  course,  never  even  imagined,  she  contrasted  it 
in  her  heart  with  the  severely  plain,  almost  humble,  home 
that  had  been  her  mother's  for  the  last  eighteen  years  of 
her  womanhood.  Gret  was  old  enough  now  to  know,  if 
not  exactly  what  marriage  was  in  all  its  intricacies,  yet 
something  of  the  equal  partnership  it  ought  to  be.  Her 
father  had  always  been  a  pretty  transparent  book  to  her, 
but  never  had  she  realized  the  full  extent  of  his  selfish- 
ness as  she  did  now.  And  nothing  he  could  do  for  her 
now  or  in  years  to  come  would  ever  obliterate  by  a  quar- 
ter of  a  shade  the  effect  of  that  five  minutes'  thinking. 

The  rest  of  the  party  round  the  table  were  struck  by 
the  incongruity  of  the  two  scenes  also,  as  who  could  help 


254  GRET 

being?  And  Walter  Silway  either  divined  as  much  or 
was  afraid  some  such  reflection  might  enter  their 
minds. 

"It  's  unfortunate  and  disagreeable,  though,  having  to 
be  away  from  one's  family  so  much,"  he  said  in  a  com- 
mendably  casual  tone.  "But  Mrs.  Silway  detests  cities, 
and  my  business  demands  that  I  should  be  in  them  so 
much  of  my  time.  So  there  appears  to  be  no  way  out  of 
it." 

"Does  she,  indeed  ?"  said  Mrs.  Baring,  not  quite  so  suc- 
cessful in  her  tone  of  voice. 

And  here  the  conversation  ended,  much  to  Bobbie's  re- 
lief who  had  been  straining  every  nerve  to  look  inordi- 
nately grave  and  to  avoid  meeting  the  eyes  of  any  of  the 
rest  of  the  party. 

The  next  three  days  were  spent  by  the  three  women  in 
shopping.  Mrs.  Baring  had  playfully  demanded  carte 
blanche  from  Mr.  Silway  in  the  way  of  fitting  Gret  out 
for  her  coming  debut  into  San  Francisco  society.  She  ex- 
plained that  nothing  very  costly  or  elaborate  would  be 
required  for  so  young  a  woman,  but  that  a  deal  of  femi- 
nine experience  was  required  in  the  choice  of  articles, 
which  Mr.  Silway  could  not  be  expected  to  have  at  his 
command,  but  which  she  would  be  delighted  to  bestow  on 
the  matter.  And  having  nothing  else  to  do,  Mr.  Silway 
acquiesced  in  all  her  proposals  with  the  best  grace  possi- 
ble. What  was  the  use  of  pleading  limited  means,  or 
even  hinting  at  restrictions,  in  the  face  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  evidently  lived  himself. 

Mrs.  Baring  and  Maude  took  a  keen,  and  it  must  be 
admitted  a  somewhat  malicious,  delight  in  fitting  Gret 
out  with  the  most  stylish  and  dainty,  even  if  simple,  arti- 
cles to  be  found  in  the  city  and  sending  the  bills  in  to  her 
father.  They  visited  nothing  but  the  high-class  establish- 
ments, and  forgot  nothing  that  Gret  would  be  likely  to 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    255 

want  on  her  visit.  Mrs.  Baring  even  took  the  precaution 
to  add  several  dress-lengths  of  material  to  be  made  up  as 
occasion  required. 

When  arrayed  in  her  new  garments  Gret  certainly 
looked  almost  handsome  and,  as  Ludlowe  had  predicted, 
very  distinguished.  Though  secretly  somewhat  hampered 
by  the  unaccustomed  sweep  of  skirts  and  restrictions  of 
stylish  cut,  yet,  since  her  slender  figure  called  for  gar- 
ments of  loose  and  graceful  design,  she  managed  to  over- 
come her  first  feeHngs  of  discomfort  and  to  preserve  to 
all  appearances  her  usual  ease  and  poise.  She  would  not 
have  allowed  herself  to  do  anything  short  of  this. 

All  unconsciously  she  amused  her  companions  greatly 
by  the  calm  almost  stolid  way  in  which  she  met  scenes,  ex- 
periences, and  objects  which  were  utterly  new,  and  most 
of  which  must  surely  have  been  amazing  to  her.  No 
startled  gazing  round,  no  exclamations  of  surprise  or  de- 
light, rewarded  those  who  had  suddenly  plunged  her  into 
the  midst  of  civilization's  wonders.  Bobbie  for  one  was 
somewhat  disappointed. 

''Are  n't  you  ever  going  to  be  surprised  ?"  he  demanded 
at  dinner  the  second  evening. 

"No ;  I  came  expecting  to  be  surprised,"  replied  Gret 
paradoxically.  "You  did  n't  suppose  I  thought  I  'd  find 
things  pretty  much  the  same  as  on  the  Wishkah,  did 
you?" 

"Oh,  no  !  Still,  I  thought  you  'd  be  a  little  bit  surprised 
at  some  of  the  things,"  responded  Bobbie  in  slightly  in- 
jured tones.  "I  was  surprised  at  you  and  the  Wishkah 
when  first  I  came  down  there." 

"And  so  Bobbie  evidently  thinks  you  owe  him  a  debt 
on  that  account  which  you  have  failed  to  pay,"  interposed 
Ludlowe,  armused. 

Every  one  laughed.  And  Massinger  looked  at  Gret  in 
the  almost  wistful,  questioning  way  so  often  to  be  noticed 


256  GRET 

of  late.  "Gret  's  thoughts  don't  appear  on  her  face,"  he 
said.    'That 'sail." 

On  the  evening  of  the  fifth  day  the  party  started  for 
San  Francisco.  The  journey,  which  seemed  tedious  and 
uninteresting  to  her  companions,  was  interesting  and  en- 
joyable in  every  particular  to  Gret,  who  could  not  see 
what  Mrs.  Baring  could  find  to  grumble  at  in  the  accom- 
modations offered.  But  Mrs.  Baring,  who  was  now  just 
resuming  the  status  and  personality  for  a  time  perforce 
laid  by,  entertained  the  idea  that  it  did  not  become  ex- 
perienced travelers  to  be  content,  much  less  pleased,  with 
anything  provided  for  them  while  traveling.  But  to  Gret 
every  acre  of  the  country  was  interesting  to  the  last  de- 
gree, as  were  also  the  various  people  who  passed  in  and 
out  on  the  road. 

Arrived  in  San  Francisco,  the  party  broke  up,  Arthur 
going,  with  the  promise  of  an  early  call,  straight  to  his 
home,  and  Ludlowe,  whose  chauffeur  and  automobile  were 
waiting  for  him,  to  his  apartments  in  the  St.  Francis, 
while  the  remaining  three  entered  the  carriage  waiting  for 
them  and  drove  off  to  Van  Ness  Avenue. 

Gret  was  secretly  delighted  with  the  beautiful  little  es- 
tablishment into  which  she  accompanied  her  hostess,  and 
secretly  also  very  much  surprised.  She  could  not  under- 
stand how  a  woman  of  such  slight  intellectual  caliber, 
and  such  mercenary,  almost  sordid,  ideas  as  she  instinct- 
ively knew  Mrs.  Baring  to  be  possessed  of,  could  put  to- 
gether so  artistic  and  delightful  a  home.  And  in  this  mat- 
ter, of  course,  Gret  was  judging  out  of  her  depth.  She 
did  not  take  into  account,  and  would  not  have  been  able  to 
judge  of  the  effect,  if  she  had,  of  the  years  abroad,  in 
cities  that  were  the  very  home  of  art,  that  had  molded 
Mrs.  Baring's  tastes,  or  rather  given  them  to  her,  for  she 
had  none  naturally. 

The  first  week  was  spent  by  the  ex-mill-house  party  in 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    257 

various  ways ;  by  Bobbie  in  a  delighted  visiting  of  clubs  and 
routing  out  of  old  friends ;  by  Arthur  in  unbroken  effort  to 
gather  up  and  establish  again  the  work  which  he  sadly 
discovered  had  fallen  away  to  almost  nothing ;  and  by  the 
ladies  in  getting  settled,  shopping,  and  long  consultations 
with  modistes,  milliners,  etc.  They  took  Gret  with  them 
everywhere,  sometimes  to  that  young  lady's  edification, 
and  sometimes  not.  She  was  having  a  gown  made  up 
herself,  which  was  interesting,  of  course.  Mrs.  Baring 
was  having  one  of  the  lengths  of  silk  so  thoughtfully  pro- 
vided in  Portland  turned  into  a  confection  to  be  worn  at 
the  "at-home"  about  which  Gret  constantly  heard  so 
much.  Otherwise  Gret  soon  tired  of  standing  and  sitting 
about  while  Mrs.  Baring  and  Maude  matched  this  and 
prepared  that.  She  decided  that,  after  all,  there  was  more 
in  Eva's  objections  to  having  to  do  what  they  did  when 
they  did  than  she  had  at  first  believed,  although,  of  course, 
the  joys  and  the  revelations  of  the  visit  were  worth  more 
than  a  thousand  such  small  objections  as  this.  Still,  the 
objection  was  sustained,  especially  in  the  matter  of  getting 
up  and  lying  down.  Gret  found  herself  becoming  unrea- 
sonably sleepy  hours  before  the  establishment  was  ready 
to  retire,  or  in  the  midst  of  whatever  performance  they 
happened  to  be  attending ;  and  then  again  in  the  morning 
was  awake  long  before  even  the  servants  were  about.  She 
tried  going  to  sleep  again,  but  the  effect  of  this  on  the  day 
following  was  so  wretched  that  she  tried  it  no  more,  but 
rose  each  morning,  dressed,  and  slipping  down  to  the  big 
drawing-room  overlooking  Van  Ness,  sat  in  the  oriel  win- 
dow and  watched  the  people  come  and  go.  From  this 
somewhat  monotonous  method  of  spending  her  mornings 
Ludlowe,  who  happened  to  overhear  his  aunt's  chidings, 
rescued  her. 

"You  know,  Gret,  you  can't  burn  the  candles  at  both 
ends,"  Mrs.  Baring  was  saying  impressively.  "You  are  up  at 


258  GRET 

nights  several  hours  later,  IVe  no  doubt,  than  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  being,  so  you  must  sleep  later  in  the  morning." 

"But  I  can't !"  protested  Gret,  opening  wide  those  sin- 
gular, bronze-colored  eyes  and  staring  at  her  hostess  with 
comical  earnestness.  "If  I  do  go  to  sleep  again  I  feel 
sleepy  and  horrid  all  day  after." 

"She  's  quite  right,  aunt,"  interposed  Ludlowe,  who 
was  drinking  tea  a  la  Russe  with  becoming  resignation. 
"It  does  serve  any  one  that  way  who  is  not  accustomed  to 
sleeping  late.    I  We  found  that  out  for  myself." 

"Well  then,  what  do  you  do  ?"  demanded  his  aunt.  "Go 
to  bed  late  and  get  up  early  ?  No  woman  is  going  to  keep 
young  long  at  that  rate !" 

"I  get  up  as  soon  as  I  awake.  No  sooner,  no  later,"  re- 
plied Ludlowe,  with  a  charming  smile  in  the  direction  of 
his  aunt.  "I  generally  take  a  spin  in  the  auto  before 
breakfast.  So  get  your  hat  ready  to-morrow  morning, 
Gret.  I  see  we  're  partners  in  misfortune.  I  '11  take  you 
down  to  the  Cliff  to  see  the  seals,  and  we  '11  leave  these  la- 
dies to  slumber  as  long  as  they  like." 

And  so  Gret's  mornings,  from  being  rather  a  trial,  be- 
came her  chief  delight.  The  ocean  appealed  strongly  to 
her,  and  her  eyes  widened  as  she  gazed  over  it  and  drank 
in  its  free,  salt  breath.  The  seals,  too,  were  a  source 
of  never-ending  interest ;  and  when  in  the  early  mornings 
they  shot  along  the  flat  expanse  of  the  Ingleside  road  like 
a  sling  out  of  a  bow,  Ludlowe,  watching  for  the  least 
signs  of  nervousness  or  fear,  saw  how  her  nostrils  dilated 
with  keen  satisfaction. 

"What  is  the  'at-home'  that  Mrs.  Baring  is  going  to 
have  to-morrow  ?"  she  inquired  one  morning.  "Seems  to 
me  a  lot  of  people  must  be  coming  to  it." 

"There  are,"  replied  Ludlowe  grimly.  "Everybody  that 
rejoices  in  the  acquaintanceship  of  my  esteemed  aunt  will 
— or  should— be  there." 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    259 

"What  for?"  demanded  Gret  curiously. 

"To  see  what  new  gowns  she  has,  and  how  she  is  look- 
ing. 

"No— do  they?"  looking  at  her  companion  in  surprise. 
Then,  noticing  the  quizzical  curve  of  his  lips,  "No — what 
do  they  really  come  for  ?" 

"That  's  what  they  really  do  it  for,"  replied  Ludlowe. 
"What  they  are  supposed  to  come  for  is  to  express  their 
extreme  satisfaction  at  seeing  my  aunt  and  Miss  Vibart 
back  in  their  midst  once  more." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  nodded  Gret.  "I  thought  it  was  something 
like  that." 

"Yes.  And  if  you  watch  Mrs.  Baring  closely  to-mor- 
row, Gret,  you  '11  obtain  a  valuable  lesson,"  went  on  Lud- 
lowe. "You  '11  see  how  to  be  very  gracious  to  the  most 
important  caller,  a  little— just  a  little— less  so  to  the  next 
in  importance,  and  so  on.  Of  course,  it  's  all  so  fine  that 
you  '11  have  to  watch  very  closely." 

"I  don't  see  any  sense  in  that,"  said  Gret.  "If  you  're 
glad  to  see  them,  you  're  glad  to  see  them,  and  that  's  all 
there  is  about  it." 

"Not  in  society." 

"Oh,  well,  of  course,  one  can't  like  all  alike ;  some  peo- 
ple are  much  nicer  than  others." 

"Very  much ;  especially  in  their  bank  account,"  agreed 
Ludlowe. 

"Is  that  all?  Perhaps  you  're  mistaken,"  remarked 
Gret,  making  allowances  for  Ludlowe's  unfailingly  skepti- 
cal nature. 

"Well,  if  I  am,  after  being  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  for 
fifteen  years,  I  deserve  a  medal!"  laughed  Ludlowe. 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  care.  I  believe  I  shall  see  people  I 
like  and  people  I  don't  like,"  insisted  Gret  good-hu- 
moredly. 

"You  will.    You  're  not  a  hostess  and  a  chaperon  and  a 


26o  GRET 

mother  of  eligibles/'  returned  Ludlowe,  secure  in  the 
knowledge  that  part  at  all  events  of  his  meaning  would 
escape  Gret  at  this  stage  of  her  social  growth. 

And  so,  in  consideration  of  the  many  preparations  made 
for  it,  and  the  amount  of  discussion  concerning  it,  and 
having  in  mind,  too,  Ludlowe's  joking  remarks  as  to  the 
procedure  observed  during  it — to  say  nothing  of  Bobbie's 
wholesale  ridicule— Gret  entered  upon  the  first  "at-home" 
of  her  experience  with  profound  interest.  She  took  up 
her  station  near  Mrs.  Baring,  as  carefully  instructed  by 
that  lady  beforehand,  with  great  satisfaction  and  much  in- 
ward anticipation.  She  was  looking  very  distinguished  in 
the  gown  made  for  her  under  Mrs.  Baring's  supervision — 
a  crepe  de  chine  of  a  peculiar  shade  of  fawn,  that  toned 
in  a  strange,  taking  way  with  the  girl's  greenish  hazel 
eyes  and  dull-brown  hair.  But  Gret,  though  duly  inter- 
ested while  being  arrayed  for  the  affair,  had  long  ago  for- 
gotten how  she  looked,  in  the  interest  of  coming  events ; 
for  she  regarded  the  whole  thing  as  a  sort  of  entertain- 
ment, never  pausing  to  realize  that  she  herself  was  about 
to  make  her  first  bow  to  what  would  be  a  very  curious 
world.  And  it  was  this  view  of  the  occasion,  of  course, 
that  helped  materially  to  give  her  attitude  that  perfection 
of  ease,  and  her  face  and  expression  the  amused  and  in- 
terested, but  cool  and  unembarrassed,  look  which  many 
remarked.  But  that  generally  was  one  of  the  main  secrets 
of  Gret's  unfailing  self-possession.  She  was  always  too 
greatly  interested  in  all  that  was  going  on  outside  to 
think  much  about  herself. 

Mrs.  Baring,  in  an  exquisite  afternoon  toilet,  accom- 
panied by  Maude  in  an  equally  charming  gown,  received, 
as  Ludlowe  had  predicted,  almost  every  friend  of  which 
she  had  imagined  herself  the  possessor.  Gret  was  pre- 
sented to  them  all,  and  grew  so  tired  of  making  the  little 
bow  that  Mrs.  Baring  had  taught  her  that  presently  she 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED     261 

forgot  all  about  it  half  the  time.  And  once,  catching 
Ludlowe's  eye  full  of  malicious  amusement,  she  was 
struck  by  a  sense  of  absurdity  and  broke  into  a  little  bub- 
ble of  laughter  just  as  Mrs.  Baring  turned  to  present  her 
to  the  somewhat  astonished  wife  of  a  naval  captain. 

Gret  watched  for  the  nice  gradations  of  courtesy  in  the 
welcoming  of  callers  mentioned  by  Ludlowe,  but,  except 
that  now  and  again  she  could  distinguish  an  extra  burst 
of  graciousness,  she  was  not  experienced  enough  in  social 
matters  to  detect  fine  variations.  Once,  though,  toward 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  when  the  rooms  were  filled 
with  people  and  Mrs.  Baring  was  floating  hither  and 
thither,  all  smiles  and  chat,  and  this  person  and  that  was 
approaching  Gret  and  engaging  her  in  conversation— 
mostly  a  deft  process  of  questioning,  she  noticed— there 
entered  a  lady  who,  to  Gret's  ignorant  eye,  was  one  of  the 
most  important  yet  to  arrive.  And  then  Gret  noticed,  not 
a  gradation,  but  a  distinct  change  in  the  character  of  the 
greetings  on  all  sides.  She  could  not  tell  where  the 
change  came  in,  but  she  knew  that  something  about  it 
made  her  feel  uncomfortable.  It  did  not  seem  to  have  this 
effect  on  the  lady  in  question,  however;  she  went  about 
with  a  smiling  aplomb  that  Gret  was  quick  to  ad- 
mire. She  felt  that  in  some  way  this  woman  was  showing 
grit.  With  her  was  a  dark-faced  girl,  who,  though  she 
was  not  at  all  pretty,  was  so  gentle  and  amiable-looking  as 
to  be  almost  attractive;  nevertheless  Gret  felt  sure  she 
noticed  the  chilliness  of  their  reception,  for  a  timid, 
startled  look  came  into  her  eyes,  and  Gret's  sympathy 
went  out  to  her  at  once.  She  seemed  not  to  know  exactly 
what  to  do,  and  Gret  did  not  see  how  she  could  help  her, 
for  Mrs.  Baring  had  not  presented  her  to  these  people  as 
she  had  done  to  all  the  others.  She  was  wondering  and 
turning  the  matter  over  in  her  mind  when  she  observed 
Ludlowe  coming  toward  her  through  the  wide,  carved 


262  GRET 

arch  dividing  the  two  rooms.  He  evidently  had  not  no- 
ticed the  arrival  of  the  lady  and  the  girl,  but  just  as  he 
got  near  Gret  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl.  A  slight  ex- 
clamation seemed  to  escape  his  lips,  and,  veering  straight 
off  at  a  tangent  from  Gret,  he  went  up  to  her  as  she  stood 
hesitatingly  near  her  mother.  Gret,  watching  keenly, 
saw  him  greet  the  lady  in  a  familiar  way  and  then  speak 
to  the  girl.  She  saw  him  lead  her  away  to  a  group  of 
seats,  place  her  in  one  and  seat  himself  in  another,  and  his 
manner  and  actions  were  so  unusually  kindly  that  Gret  was 
at  first  inclined  to  be  surprised.  Then  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  divined  his  motive,  and  her  heart  applauded  it. 
For  some  reason  or  other  these  people  were  not  much 
liked;  but  evidently  the  girl  knew  and  understood  noth- 
ing of  it  all,  and  Ludlowe  was  sorry  for  her.  It  was  a 
nice  act,  and  Gret  thought  the  better  of  Ludlowe  for  it. 

She  stood  and  watched  his  face  keenly,  hoping  that,  if 
she  could  catch  his  eye,  he  might  invite  her  over  to  sit 
down  with  him  and  the  girl  at  the  little  table.  But  he 
never  looked  once  in  her  direction,  and  it  was  borne  in 
upon  Gret  that,  instead  of  merely  not  happening  to  catch 
her  eyes,  he  carefully  avoided  doing  so.  Why  ?  The  idea 
took  sudden  hold  of  her.  He  had  evidently  known  the 
girl  previously,  and  he  was  so  nice  to  her.  Unusually  in- 
terested in  something  that  seemed  no  particular  concern 
of  hers,  Gret  longed  to  hear  Ludlowe  talk  to  this  girl,  to 
hear  how  he  talked  to  her.  And  presently  when  Bobbie 
passed  near  her  and  gave  an  encouraging  smile  over  his 
shoulder,  she  made  a  sudden  plan.  She  beckoned  to  the 
amiably  beaming  youth  to  come  to  her,  and  when  he 
obeyed,  expressed  herself  as  weary. 

"Can't  I  sit  down  at  a  table  or  something,  as  so  many 
of  the  others  are  ?"  she  queried,  her  eyes  traveling  over  to 
Ludlowe's  corner,  where  two  more  might  easily  accom- 
modate themselves. 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    263 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Bobbie,  his  eyes  following  hers, 
though  all  unaware  of  being  led.  "Let  's  go  over  to  Er- 
rol's  table— be  fun.  Don't  very  often  see  him  taken  up 
with  a  girl,  eh?"  And  with  a  gesture  to  Gret  to  follow 
him  Bobbie  sailed  off  to  Ludlowe's  retreat. 

Gret  fancied  Ludlowe  gave  him  a  queer  look  as  they 
approached,  but  he  accepted  the  invasion  very  coolly, 
making  way  for  Gret  to  sit  by  himself. 

"So  you  think  you  '11  rest  a  while  from  your  labors," 
he  said  quizzically.    "What  a  chatterbox  you  are." 

Gret  was  indignant  at  the  accusation.  "I  was  n't  chat- 
tering," she  declared.    "It  was  the  other  women." 

Ludlowe  laughed;  so  did  the  girl— a  sweet,  merry 
laugh  that  Gret  liked. 

"Yes ;  she  said  she  was  tired,"  put  in  Bobbie,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  extreme  edge  of  his  chair,  giving  the  im- 
pression of  a  bird  contemplating  flight.  "Fancy  Gret 
tired!" 

"It  is  rather  funny,"  commented  Ludlowe.  "Gret,  let 
me  introduce  you  to  Miss  Gabrielle  Devreux.  Miss  Ga- 
brielle,  this  is  Miss  Margaret  Silway." 

The  girls  looked  across  at  one  another  and  smiled  in  a 
friendly  way,  though  neither  uttered  the  commonplaces 
of  introduction.  Gret  had  liked  the  looks  of  the  girl  at 
first  glance,  and  Gabrielle,  looking  into  the  keen,  bright 
eyes— over  keen,  perhaps,  for  so  young  a  woman— liked 
her  also. 

"Are  n't  you  people  going  to  have  tea,  and  some  of 
those  hit-and-miss  sandwiches  or  those  cute  little  cakes  ?" 
inquired  Bobbie. 

"Yes;  I  was  just  about  to  go  and  see  what  I  could 
gather  in,"  said  Ludlowe.  "You  're  supposed  to  be  doing 
the  honors  in  that  line,  are  n't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  'm  supposed  to  be,"  confessed  Bobbie  with  a 
grin. 


264  GRET 

"Well,  go  and  bring  up  an  assortment,  there  *s  a  good 
fellow." 

Bobbie  good-humoredly  sauntered  off,  and  Ludlowe 
turned  back  to  the  two  girls.  ''You  two  ought  to  be 
good  friends  at  once,"  he  observed. 

"Why  ?"  demanded  Gret  in  her  blunt  way. 

"Because  you  're  entering  upon  the  same  experience 
at  one  and  the  same  time.  You  're  both  viewing  the  de- 
lights of  civilization  for  the  first  time,  both  taking  your 
first  plunge  into  society  for  the  first  time.  You  can  com- 
pare notes." 

"Have  you  just  come  down  from  the  woods,  then?"  in- 
quired Gret,  unable  to  conjure  up  any  other  form  of  so- 
cial retirement. 

"No;  I  have  always  been  in  a  convent,"  replied  Ga- 
brielle. 

"Always!"  exclaimed  Gret,  to  whose  ideas— gathered 
from  fiction,  of  course— a  convent  was  something  on  the 
order  of  a  penitentiary.  "Goodness !"  She  looked  curi- 
ously at  the  girl  before  her,  reflecting  that  she  was  of 
surprisingly  contented  and  amiable  countenance  for  one 
reared  in  the  stern,  cold  atmosphere  of  a  convent. 

Gabrielle  looked  a  trifle  surprised,  too,  that  her  early 
life  should  occasion  so  much  amazement. 

"Are  n't  you  glad  you  're  out?"  queried  Gret  then. 

"Out?"  inquired  Gabrielle. 

"Yes,  of  the  convent." 

"Oh,  yes!"  with  simple  candor,  "because  I  'm  having 
such  a  good  time.  But  still  the  sisters  were  always  kind 
and  good  to  me,  and  it  was  beautiful  among  the  birds  and 
flowers." 

Gret  stared  at  this  altogether  new  setting  of  the  con- 
vent idea,  and  Ludlowe,  wondering  what  particular  fal- 
lacy was  being  upset,  smiled.  "Well,  have  you  enjoyed 
your  first  social  function,  Gret  ?"  he  inquired. 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    265 

"Oh,"— Gret  glanced  round  indulgently— "it  's  all 
right.  Looks  very  pretty  at  first,  but  after  a  while  it 
looks  all  alike." 

"Not  in  it  with  coming  down  the  skid-road  on  a  chain 
of  logs,  eh?"  quizzically. 

"There  are  a  great  many  things  it  's  not  in  it  with," 
emphatically. 

Ludlowe  laughed.  "And  you.  Miss  Gabrielle?  How 
does  this  brilliant  gathering  strike  you  ?" 

"It  's  very  nice,"  replied  Gabrielle  with  cautious  grav- 
ity; "and  I  suppose  it  would  be  very  enjoyable  if  one 
were  friendly  with  every  one." 

"You  're  neither  of  you  as  enthusiastic  as  the  occasion 
demands,"  said  Ludlowe.  And  then  to  Gret :  "I  wonder 
why  Arthur  has  n't  turned  up.  He  said  he  intended  to 
come.    He  has  n't  been  up  for  several  days,  has  he  ?"  • 

Gret  shook  her  head.  "No ;  but  just  as  soon  as  he  's 
got  things  straightened  out  in  his  home  he  's  going  to 
come  and  tell  us,  and  then  Mrs.  Baring  wall  take  me  down 
to  see  it." 

"Humph!"  Ludlowe  looked  profoundly  disgusted. 
"He  's  worrying  and  fuming  over  that  confounded  place 
like  a  lunatic.  I  saw  him  yesterday  and  he  looked  posi- 
tively wretched — just  seems  to  have  undone  in  one  week 
all  the  good  the  past  three  months  had  done  him.  His 
mission  work  has  all  fallen  away,  and  the  'Christian' 
housekeeper  has  just  been  having  a  high  old  time  doing 
nothing  and  doing  it  in  style.  And  now  Arthur  has  been 
chasing  about  to  get  another  'Christian'  to  keep  house, 
and  is  out  in  the  highways  and  hedges  gathering  in  sin- 
ners." 

At  the  close  of  this  sentence,  lengthy  for  usually  lazy 
lips,  Gret  burst  into  her  little,  irrepressible  chuckle  of  glee. 
She  was  overcome  by  the  sight  of  Gabrielle's  face,  which, 
as  she  listened  to  Ludlowe's  discontented  statement  of 


266  GRET 

affairs,  was  a  study  in  blank  amazement.  Ludlowe  looked 
up,  and  catching  the  expression  laughed  himself. 

"I  never  saw  you  really  provoked  before,"  remarked 
Gret  with  satisfaction. 

*'Well,  he  's  simply  throwing  his  life  away,"  said  Lud- 
lowe ;  "literally  throwing  it  away  for  a  pack  of  thankless 
people!" 

"He  that  loseth  his  life  shall  find  it,"  said  Gabrielle 
softly.  And  Gret  and  Ludlowe  said  no  more,  because 
Gabrielle  had  removed  the  argument  to  strange  ground. 

"Well,"  said  Ludlowe  after  a  moment,  "Bobbie  has 
evidently  forgotten  that  we  exist.  I  must  go  myself  and 
get  us  some  tea,  or  whatever  it  is  that  aunt  is  dispensing 
over  there." 

Standing  before  a  silver  urn,  and  assisted  by  Maude, 
Mrs.  Baring  dispensed  tea  European  fashion,  the  gentle- 
men present  conveying  it  to  the  fair  companion  of  the 
moment.  Ludlowe  took  up  two  of  the  delicate  cups  that 
Mrs.  Baring  had  imported  herself  direct  from  Paris,  and 
looked  coolly  at  his  aunt. 

"You  want  Gret  here  with  you,  don't  you  ?" 

That  lady  gave  him  a  wrathful  glance.  "I  should  think 
so!" 

Ludlowe  looked  amused,  and  strolled  back  to  the  two 
girls.    "Gret,  aunt  wants  you  to  go  and  help  her." 

Gret  looked  at  him  sharply  and  questioningly.  She  did 
not  want  to  go,  and  it  needed  but  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment from  him  to  make  her  disregard  the  summons.  But 
he  had  not  brought  her  any  refreshment,  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  expected  her  to  go ;  and  so  she  rose  with  a  sudden 
movement,  and,  with  a  parting  smile  to  Gabrielle,  walked 
off  to  Mrs.  Baring's  side.  And  Ludlowe  saw  her  no  more 
that  day,  for  she"carefully  avoided  him. 

After  the  unpopular  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  more  or 
less  notorious,  Madame  Devreux  had  borne  Gabrielle  off, 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    267 

with  many  a  swish  and  smile,  Ludlowe  still  sat  on,  idly- 
watching  the  throngs  of  people.  And  to  him  presently 
came  Bobbie,  pleasantly  ignoring  all  previous  lapses  of 
duty. 

"The  mater  says  she  's  awfully  tired,  Errol,  and  we  '11 
dine  strictly  en  neglige  to-night;  and  she  wants  you  to 
stay." 

"Can't,  Bobbie ;  wish  I  could,"  replied  his  cousin,  smil- 
ing. "That  confounded  Santa  Clara  delegation,  or  com- 
mittee, or  whatever  it  calls  itself,  intends  to  'wait  on  me' 
this  evening." 

"What  for  ?"  inquired  Bobbie. 

"Oh,  going  to  build  a  trolley-line  out  somewhere  or 
other,  and  wants  a  piece  of  land  for  a  park  to  wind  up 
in." 

"Well,  so  long  as  you  give  them  a  piece  right  away 
from  your  own  place,"  said  Bobbie. 

"Yes.  Oh,  I  shall  turn  the  whole  business  over  to  Cal- 
forth  with  just  that  provision.  What 's  the  good  of  a  fel- 
low having  half  a  dozen  stewards  if  he  has  to  be  pestered 
afterward  ?" 

"Of  course,"  sympathized  Bobbie.  "Tell  them  to  go  to 
blazes !" 

"I  shall,  as  represented  by  Cal  forth,"  agreed  Ludlowe. 
"So  give  my  adieux  to  aunt,  Bobbie.  Tell  her  I  will  drop 
in  to  dinner  to-morrow,  if  I  may.  I  'm  going  to  escape 
now  before  any  further  entanglement  arises." 

"By-by !"  said  Bobbie,  strolling  off,  and  forgetting  the 
message  before  he  was  half-way  across  the  room. 

As  the  little  family  dined  quietly  together  that  night 
Mrs.  Baring  took  the  unsuspecting  Gret  to  task  for  her 
share  in  the  afternoon's  annoyance. 

"I  'm  going  to  scold  you,  Gret,"  she  announced,  gazing 
at  that  young  lady's  undisturbed  countenance. 

"Are  you  ?"  said  Gret,  looking  faintly  surprised. 


268  GRET 

"Yes.  You  were  assisting  me  in  the  reception  of 
guests,  and  should  not,  therefore,  have  seated  yourself 
in  one  spot  for  so  long  a  time.  But,"  indulgently,  "you 
could  not  be  expected  to  know  all  these  points  as  yet. 
Errol  should  have  known  better  than  to  have  allowed  you 
to  stay  there.  But  what  I  want  to  take  particular  excep- 
tion to  is  your  forming  an  acquaintanceship  with  that 
girl,  Gabrielle  Devreux !" 

"Why,  what  's  the  matter  with  her?"  inquired  Gret, 
her  surprise  increasing. 

"I  don't  know  that  anything  is  the  matter,  as  you  call 
it,  with  her  herself— as  yet,"  replied  Mrs.  Baring  calmly. 
"But  her  mother  is  quite  impossible." 

Gret  only  stared  at  this,  to  her,  totally  inexplicable  ob- 
jection.   Bobbie  burst  out  laughing,  and  Maude  smiled. 

"Lord,  mother,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  talking  to 
Gret  like  that?"  demanded  Bobbie.  "J^st  look  at  her 
face." 

"Gret  will  learn,"  said  Mrs.  Baring  severely.  "It  will 
be  necessary  for  her  to  know  how  to  make  these  discrim- 
inations if  she  is  ever  to  take  a  place  in  society.  I  mean," 
she  went  on,  addressing  herself  to  Gret,  "that  this  Mad- 
ame Devreux,  as  she  calls  herself,  is  impossible  as  an 
acquaintance.  When  a  person  acts  in  such  a  way  as  to 
offend  against  all  the  laws  of  decent  and  good  society, 
that  person  has  to  be  dropped." 

"Well,  Major  Ludlowe  seems  to  like  them,"  said  Gret 
sturdily. 

"That  is  nothing.  He  is  a  man.  Society  is  not  guided 
at  all  by  what  a  man  does,"  responded  Mrs.  Baring. 
"There  is  nothing  a  man— a  single  man  at  all  events— 
cannot  do  except  get  into  jail  or  become  poor." 

She  did  not  intend  to  be  epigrammatic,  but  merely 
voiced  her  serious  opinion;  and  Maude,  whose  usually 
composed  face  was   somewhat  harsh  and  discontented 


GRET  GOES  TO  BE  CIVILIZED    269 

to-night,  expressed  her  entire  sympathy  with  the  senti- 
ment. 

"Yes,  indeed.  It  sounds  extreme,  but  Hterally  it  's  the 
truth  as  society  stands  to-day.  I  think  it  's  perfectly 
hateful  to  be  a  woman."  And  a  little  sigh  that  sounded 
like  pure  weariness  of  heart  escaped  her. 

Mrs.  Baring  glanced  covertly  at  her,  in  no  wise  at  a 
loss  to  understand  this  sudden  vexation  of  spirit.  Indeed, 
Maude's  chagrin  formed  a  part  of  Mrs.  Baring's  own 
displeasure.  Had  she  not  watched  all  that  afternoon  how 
Maude's  eyes  had  turned  again  and  again  to  where  Errol 
sat  entertaining  that  dark-faced  girl  with  the  look  of 
perfectly  foolish  innocence  and  amiability !  And  though, 
of  course,  Maude  was  ignoring  a  real  danger  for  an 
imaginary  one,  yet  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  be  dis- 
turbed and  upset  this  early  in  the  day.  Mrs.  Baring 
could  not  feel  that  there  was  any  danger  in  the  Devreux 
quarter  to  a  man  of  Errol's  cool  discretion ;  for  beneath 
that  indolent  disregard  for  people's  opinion  there  was 
great  and  unbending  pride  of  family  and  caste. 

"I  wonder  how  she  ever  began  to  come  here  if  you 
don't  want  her,"  the  thoughtful  tones  of  Gret  broke  in 
upon  her  reflections. 

"Oh,  I  knew  her  when  she  was  a  girl.  She  is  of  very 
good  family,  indeed,"  explained  Mrs.  Baring  readily. 
"At  one  time  she  was  everything  that  is  desirable.  But 
she  branched  off  into  a  very  headstrong  career ;  and  now, 
in  spite  of  every  possible  intimation  that  she  is  not  wel- 
come, she  still  persists  in  coming." 

"I  suppose  that  is  how  Major  Ludlowe  comes  to  know 
her,  too,"  surmised  Gret. 

"Of  course.  They  were  children  together,"  said  Mrs. 
Baring.  "Errol's  mother  used  to  pass  a  portion  of  each 
year  on  the  Santa  Clara  estate,  and  the  estate  of  Helen's 
father,  old  Mr.  Vandyke,  adjoins." 


270  GRET 

"And  he  never  gave  her  up  when  she  got— got  impos- 
sible," said  Gret. 

"No,  you  bet  your  boots  he  did  n't,"  broke  in  Bobbie. 
"Errol's  not  that  kind  of  a  fellow." 

"Bobbie,  I  simply  will  not  tolerate  such  slang,"  ex- 
postulated Mrs.  Baring.  "It  's  dreadful.  Please  remem- 
ber you  have  not  an  audience  of  loggers  now." 

Bobbie  subsided  into  crushed  silence,  and  quiet  reigned 
round  the  table  for  a  few  moments.  Each  was  busy  with 
his  or  her  own  thoughts ;  and  Gret's,  to  judge  by  the 
tuck  of  her  lips,  were  very  decided  ones.  She  tried  to 
sum  up  the  Devreux  case  and  judge  accordingly;  but,  of 
course,  she  was  ignorant  of  some  of  the  main  essentials 
of  the  case,  and  her  judgments  were  necessarily  one- 
sided. But  one  thing  she  had  seen  clearly :  Ludlowe  had 
sent  her  away  from  the  little  table  so  that  he  could  have 
the  "impossible  girl"  all  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

NOT   COUNTING   THE   COST 

THE  next  morning,  as  they  took  their  usual  drive, 
Gret  detailed  to  Ludlowe  as  nearly  as  possible  the 
chiding  she  had  received  the  evening  before  anent  the 
Devreux.  And  after  giving  Mrs.  Baring's  version  of  the 
case,  she  demanded  her  companion's.  "How  does  it  all 
seem  to  you?" 

And  Ludlowe  gave,  as  near  as  was  possible,  an  account 
of  Madame  Devreux's  misdemeanors,  necessarily  omit- 
ting, of  course,  what  were  really  the  most  serious,  and 
concluding  with  a  brief  resume  of  the  social  problem  as 
it  stood. 

"Of  course,  aunt  's  quite  right  in  one  way:  if  your 
house  is  to  be  the  thing,  you  must  bar  out  people  like  the 
Devreux.  Either  that  or  you  must  content  yourself  with 
that  class  altogether.  The  two  elements  won't  mix — 
can't  really.  When  you  're  more  acquainted  with  society 
and  its  ways  you  '11  find  it  a  mass  of  contradictions  and 
inconsistencies.  The  main  distinction  really  is  between 
those  that  are  found  out  and  those  that  are  not.  But  the 
distinction  remains,  nevertheless,  and  is  in  full  force. 
However,"  he  added  smiling,  "you  need  not  bother  your 
head  about  these  matters.  You  could  not  hope  to  grasp 
these  nice  discriminations  all  at  once.  It  will  come 
gradually." 

"Still  Gabrielle  has  n't  done  anything,"  observed  Gret. 
"It  's  not  her  fault  what  her  mother  did." 

"No;  but  have  n't  you  ever  heard  of  the  sins  of  the 

271 


272  GRET 

parents  being  visited  on  the  heads  of  the  children?  Be- 
sides," he  added,  with  a  sudden  return  to  his  old  quizzical 
self,  "in  that  atmosphere  she  '11  soon  learn.  Evil  comes 
naturally  to  a  woman." 

"Why  not — with  such  good  teachers  round  about  them 
all  the  time  ?"  retorted  Gret  instantly,  not  waiting  to  com- 
prehend the  full  sense  and  meaning  of  his  words.  And 
Ludlowe  laughed  as  he  speeded  the  machine  on  the  long 
run  for  the  beach. 

"Let  's  go  down  and  see  the  seals,"  proposed  Gret,  as 
they  ran  down  the  hill  to  the  shore.  And  so  they  drove 
up  to  the  Cliff  House,  and  went  through  to  the  veranda 
over  the  water.  And  here  Gret  leaned  her  elbow  on  the 
sills  and  gazed  down  into  the  lucid,  green  depths  of 
water  beneath  them  in  pure  contentment  of  soul.  She 
watched  the  tawny,  sinuous  seals,  and  saw  the  ships  cross 
in  and  out  the  bay,  and  sighed  for  very  delight.  "It  's 
all  so  pretty !" 

Ludlowe  sat  with  his  face  resting  on  his  hands,  his 
eyes,  with  their  look  of  tired  knowledge,  resting  on  the 
faint  rose  rim  of  the  horizon.  "Yes.  When  I  was  a  boy, 
and  lay  on  the  shores  at  Santa  Clara,  and  watched,  from 
among  the  flowers  and  grasses,  the  brown  and  white  sails 
grow  and  wane  over  the  rim  of  the  sea,  I  used  to  wish  I 
could  sail  out  into  the  lovely  rose  morning  and  drop  the 
sail  and  stay  there  in  the  calm,  half  awake  half  asleep, 
and  not  have  the  rose  mists  go  or  the  sun  go  down  or  the 
night  come."  He  smiled,  but  the  shadows  deepened  in  his 
eyes.  "But  the  rose  lights  go,  and  the  night  comes— 
over  one's  soul." 

Gret  turned  her  eyes  from  the  rocks  and  the  water. 
She  looked  keenly  into  her  companion's  face,  and  then 
turned  her  head  away  again  and  wrapped  strong,  brown 
fingers  round  her  own  face. 

"You  're  like  my  sister,  Eva.    At  home,  in  the  morn- 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       273 

ing,  before  a  hot  day,  long  lines  of  red  mist  lie  among 
the  far-off  pines;  and  Eva  has  always  been  wanting  to 
get  into  the  mists  and  lie  among  them  and  see  nothing 
but  rose  light.  I  told  her  that  as  soon  as  she  got  there  the 
mists  would  still  be  farther  off.  But  she  would  n't  be- 
lieve it ;  said  she  did  n't  want  to  believe  it." 

"No.  You  like  to  think  you  can  creep  off  into  the 
beauty  of  things  and  be  rested."  Ludlowe  gazed 
amusedly  at  the  girl's  grave  face.  "But  you  're  a  little 
materialist.    Do  you  ever  get  tired,  Gret  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Gret  truthfully.  "Only  my  body  some- 
times, and  then  I  lie  down  and  sleep." 

"You  will,  some  day,"  said  Ludlowe  smiling.  "We  all 
get  tired  sooner  or  later,  even  if  all  goes  well.  There 
comes  a  time  when  you  turn  away  from  everything,  like 
a  child  that  drops  its  toys.  When  the  heart  is  tired, 
everything  is  over." 

"Do  you  think  that  kind  of  tiredness  comes  to  work- 
ers?" inquired  Gret  thoughtfully. 

"No,  I  don't.  I  think  it  comes  after  a  life  has  been 
devoted  solely  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,"  said  Ludlowe 
coolly.    "But  so  often  we  have  to  learn  too  late." 

"Is  it  ever  too  late?"  asked  Gret. 

"Yes,  for  some  things,"  quietly. 

Silence  reigned  for  a  few  moments;  and  then,  Lud- 
lowe, catching  the  eye  of  a  waiter  watching  from  a  re- 
spectful distance,  ordered  coffee. 

That  evening  Ludlowe  dined  with  the  Baring  family, 
discreetly  arriving  too  late  for  the  tete-a-tete  which  he 
knew  his  aunt  intended  to  have  with  him  to  take  place 
before  dinner,  probably  reasoning  that  a  good  dinner 
would  fortify  him  against  the  ordeal.  At  the  table  the 
family  discussed  the  visit  which  Mrs.  Baring  and  Maude 
and  Gret  had  made  that  afternoon  to  Arthur's  place. 

13 


274  GRET 

"The  poor  boy  is  so  invariably  unfortunate  in  his 
choice  of  housekeepers,"  said  Mrs.  Baring.  "For  such  a 
trying  position  one  needs  a  woman  full  of  tact  and — oh, 
I  suppose  vou  would  say  amiability,  or  something  of  that 
kind." 

"Decidedly!"  agreed  Ludlowe.  "Instead  of  that  vine- 
gary old  tab  he  has.  What  did  you  think  of  her,  Gret?" 
noticing  that  that  young  lady  preserved  discreet  silence. 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  like  her  at  all!"  immediately;  "looks  as 
if  she  had  been  killing  flies  all  her  life." 

Mrs.  Baring  stared,  and  Bobbie  gurgled,  that  being  all 
he  could  do  with  a  mouthful  of  soup.  Ludlowe  and 
Maude  burst  out  laughing. 

"That  does  n't  sound  at  all  nice,  Gret,"  expostulated 
Mrs.  Baring.  "Though  she  really  does  look  something 
like  that !"  she  added. 

Gret  accepted  the  reproof  with  calmness,  and  Bobbie, 
who  had  found  his  tongue,  concluded  the  discussion : 

"Trust  Gret  to  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  every  time !" 

Mrs.  Baring  looked  severely  across  at  her  irrepressibly 
slangy  offspring,  and  Ludlowe  hastened  to  the  rescue. 

"Found  any  one  to  go  up  and  join  Bertie  yet,  Bobbie?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  was  going  to  tell  you,"  brightl>' ;  "Ostan- 
der  and  Hewlett  are  going— next  week.  They  '11  be  just 
the  fellows,  won't  they?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Ludlowe  idly.  "Yes,  I  imagine  they  '11 
be  able  to  get  as  much  fun  out  of  the  expedition  as  any 
one." 

"I  'm  awfully  glad  it  's  all  arranged,"  said  Bobbie, 
contentedly.  "Now  I  can  go  ahead  and  have  a  good 
time." 

"I  thought  you  had  been  going  ahead  in  that  line  at  a 
pretty  good  gait,"  observed  his  cousin.  And  Bobbie 
laughed. 

In  about  three  weeks'  time  Gret  wrote  a  letter  to  Eva. 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST      275 

To  her  mother  she  had  written  upon  her  arrival  in  San 
Francisco,  which  she  felt  ended  her  responsibilities  in 
that  quarter.  -The  girls  had  agreed  to  write,  but  had  also 
agreed  that,  as  the  pen  was  a  strange  and  unwieldy  in- 
strument in  their  hands,  it  would  be  a  mere  formality. 
The  real  comparing  of  notes  would  come  when  they  met 
again.  For  knowledge  of  anything  and  everything  of 
importance  that  transpired  during  her  absence  Gret  de- 
pended on  Jake,  who  had  volunteered  his  services  as 
scribe,  declaring  himself  as  really  more  at  home  in  that 
capacity  than  in  his  chosen  profession;  and,  indeed,  the 
handwriting,  with  highly  curled  and  ornate  capitals, 
which  appeared  on  the  envelopes  handed  to  Gret  was  not 
at  all  bad ;  and  the  style  of  the  epistles,  which  were  very 
voluminous,  was  flowing  and  easy,  so  much  so  that  some- 
times one  meaning  slid  into  another.  Gret  read  these 
epistles  out  loud  for  the  benefit  of  the  one-time  dwellers 
on  the  Wishkah,  suppressing  with  unbroken  voice  and 
admirable  solemnity  such  portions  as  she  deemed  it  un- 
fair or  unwise  to  read. 

Mrs.  Silway,  when  teaching  the  girls  to  write,  had  told 
them  that  a  long  or  complex  sentence  was  never  advisa- 
ble, and  that  the  height  of  literary  excellence  lay  in  short 
and  concise  ones.  That  Gret  had  not  failed  to  absorb  her 
teachings  was  evident  in  her  letter,  written  in  a  large, 
bold  hand. 

"My  dear  Eva  : 

"I  have  been  in  San  Francisco  three  weeks  now.  It  is 
a  beautiful  city  in  parts.  Most  of  the  people  that  I  meet 
seem  to  live  in  a  silly  way.  They  dress  up  all  the  time, 
and  go  to  teas  of  different  colors.  I  have  been  to  a  pink 
tea  and  a  green  tea  and  a  chrysanthemum  tea  and  a  heart 
tea.  And  one  person  does  not  know  some  one  else  be- 
cause they  are  higher  up  or  lower  down.     But  I  like 


2/6  GRET 

going  for  drives  in  the  automobile.  And  I  like  going  to 
the  theater  pretty  well.  I  have  some  awfully  pretty 
dresses.  You  will  see  them  all  when  I  come.  How  many 
books  have  you  read?  Remember  them  all  till  I  come. 
How  is  Jack?  Please  give  my  love  to  mother.  And  I 
send  my  love  to  you,  Evie. 

"Your  loving  sister, 

"Margaret  Silway." 


This  took  Gret  about  half  an  hour  to  write,  and  then 
she  read  it  over  with  critical  eyes.  Then  she  laughed, 
a  little,  bubbling,  chuckling  laugh.  It  sounded  to  her 
rather  like  a  section  of  the  primer  out  of  which  she  could 
remember  laboriously  spelling  her  first  reading  lessons. 
"I  see  a  cat.    It  has  two  kittens." 

Gret  received  several  letters  from  Jake  altogether ;  but 
toward  the  end  of  November  she  received  one  that  puz- 
zled her  a  Httle.  It  was  quite  a  newsy  letter,  and  so  suf- 
ficient excuse  for  itself  in  every  way;  but  at  the  end  of 
the  epistle  was  a  postscript  over  which  Gret  puzzled 
considerably : 

"P.S.  I  guess  you  ^11  perhaps  be  having  a  bit  of  a  sur- 
prise one  of  these  days.  Don't  say  I  don't  know  nothing 
about  it." 

Gret  discussed  this  postscript  over  the  luncheon-table, 
and  the  assembled  family  speculated  upon  it. 

"Perhaps  your  people  are  going  to  move  to  Portland  to 
live,"  suggested  Mrs.  Baring. 

"Don't  think  so,"  laughed  Gret.  "Father  would  n't 
keep  them  all  at  the  Portland  Hotel." 

"No,"  agreed  Maude.  "They  'd  see  too  much  of  the 
inner  workings  of  the  lumber  business." 

"Perhaps  the  old  man  's  going  to  sell  out,"  hazarded 
Bobbie. 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST      ciyy 

"What  would  he  do  that  for?"  inquired  Gret.  "He  'd 
only  have  to  buy  another  camp  again." 

"I  'm  sure  I  can't  think  what  it  could  be,  then,"  de- 
clared Mrs.  Baring. 

"Rather  odd  to  warn  you  of  a  surprise,"  observed 
Maude. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  he  's  done  that  for,"  said  Gret  with 
a  chuckle.  "He  knows  that  after  it  comes— whatever  it 
is— it  would  be  no  good  telling  me  he  knew  all  about  it 
all  the  time." 

"Yes ;  you  have  to  take  due  precautions  in  dealing  with 
Gret,"  remarked  Bobbie.  "She  's  such  an  awful  little 
skeptic." 

"Oh,  well,  I  expect  it  's  some  unimportant  matter 
really,"  said  Mrs.  Baring  after  a  moment.  "Small  hap- 
penings are  magnified  in  small  communities.  Some  one 
or  other  married,  perhaps  that  servant  of  yours." 

"Well,  but  that  would  n't  be  a  surprise  on  me  in  par- 
ticular," argued  Gret. 

"No,  that  surprise  would  be  principally  on  Lizzie," 
said  Bobbie  with  a  short  laugh. 

"Oh,  no,  indeed,"  contradicted  Gret,  in  amusement. 
"Not  if  I  know  Lizzie.  It  would  be  on  the  other  fellow 
—a  surprise  that  would  n't  wear  out  in  a  hurry,  either." 

They  laughed,  and  the  subject  was  dropped.  Gret 
thought  of  it  once  or  twice  afterward,  and  then  dismissed 
the  matter  with  a  frown.  Time  enough  to  be  surprised 
when  surprise  came;  just  now  she  had  other  things  to 
think  of. 

Mrs.  Baring  was  going  to  give  a  dance  for  Gret.  The 
"lumber  magnate's  daughter  from  up  Bobbie's  way"  had 
become  quite  popular  in  a  sort  of  impersonal  way.  Young 
army  and  navy  men,  whose  pay  was  generally  inadequate 
to  their  mode  of  life,  decided  that  her  father's  supposed 


278  GRET 

thousands  would  help  out  very  pleasantly,  and  made  much 
of  her;  and  ladies  with  eligible  sons,  quite  convinced  in 
their  own  minds  that  Mrs.  Baring  had  selected  Gret  for 
Bobbie,  longed  to  cut  her  out.  And  then  the  girl  herself 
"took,"  as  Bobbie  remarked,  for  the  very  simple  reason 
that  she  did  not  care  an  atom  whether  she  did  or  not.  She 
was  not  inclined  to  flirt,  which  greatly  commended  her  to 
the  female  portion  of  her  set;  and,  in  addition  to  the  halo 
of  her  father's  money,  she  was  a  kind  of  attractive  puzzle 
to  the  young  male  portion  thereof.  She  had  a  way  of 
looking  at  them  with  a  sort  of  amusement,  as  if  she  were 
wondering  whether  they  really  existed  or  whether  they 
were  worth  the  ground  they  occupied,  which  kept  them 
in  a  certain  spicy  uncertainty  as  to  her  secret  opinion  of 
them.  And  this  uncertainty,  it  may  be  remarked,  was  the 
kindest  thing  about  the  opinion.  For  down  in  her  heart 
Gret  was  full  of  a  mild  contempt  for  the  society  youth  she 
met.  All  her  life  she  had  been  surrounded  by  men — 
rough,  and  even  sometimes  uncouth,  ,it  is  true,  but  still 
men,  working  for  the  subsistence  they  took  from  the 
earth,  virile,  earnest,  and  undaunted  by  difficulty.  And 
though  Gret  had  no  particular  standard  by  which  to 
judge  men— indeed,  she  did  not  know  that  she  judged 
them  at  all— yet  something,  some  strong  instinct  within 
her,  which  never  failed  to  assert  itself,  made  these  men 
she  was  now  meeting  for  the  first  time  for  the  most  part 
physically  and  mentally  distasteful.  Highly  educated, 
many  of  them  educated  abroad,  handsome  in  many  in- 
stances, and  perfectly  at  home  at  any  kind  of  a  function, 
yet  Gret  could  not  take  them  seriously.  Jo  her  they  were 
a  set  of  polished  mountebanks,  spending  their  time  in 
preparing  themselves  for  teas,  receptions,  and  dances; 
and  she  could  not  imagine  how  other  girls  managed  to 
feel  flattered  by  their  attentions  and  soft  speeches,  and 
even,  it  seemed,  to  fall  in  love  with  them.    Gret's  leaning. 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       279 

or  rather  her  interest,  was  toward  men  much  older  than 
herself.  Now  and  again  she  met  men  distinguished  in 
this  line  or  that,  who  claimed  her  immediate  attention; 
but  this  was  not  often,  for  the  reason  that  men  with  a 
purpose  in  life  rarely  trouble  society  much.  She  noted 
with  a  sort  of  satisfied  pride  that  Ludlowe  was  not  to  be 
seen  at  the  round  of  smart  functions  to  which  Mrs.  Bar- 
ing so  industriously  led  her ;  occasionally  he  would  attend 
an  affair,  generally  at  his  aunt's  urgent  request;  but  he 
was  always  most  distinctly  a  man  apart  from  the  throng. 

After  Mrs.  Baring  had  decided  on  giving  a  dance  for 
Gret,  she  instructed  Gret  to  write  to  her  father  for  money 
for  a  gown  suitable  for  the  occasion.  Gret  did  so, 
though  frankly  informing  her  hostess  of  her  doubts  as  to 
the  outcome  of  the  appeal. 

'Well,  of  course,  if  he  won't  send  us  the  money  we 
must  do  the  best  we  can  without  it,"  observed  that  lady 
philosophically.  "I  'm  so  glad  I  was  thoughtful  enough 
to  put  in  that  length  of  cream  silk  organdy  while  we  were 
in  Portland.  If  your  father  sends  us  money  we  '11  have  it 
trimmed— let  me  see— what  would  you  have  it  trimmed 
with  ?"  turning  reflectively  to  Maude. 

"I  would  n't  trim  it  all,"  replied  that  lady  decidedly. 
"I  hate  to  see  a  debutante  loaded  down  with  gimps  and 
laces.    It 's  a  rich  length,  and  if  it  's  well  made — " 

"Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Baring,  interrupting.  "You  're 
right.  We  '11  put  the  money  into  the  make.  We  '11  take 
her  to  Madame  Bertinelle." 

"Better  wait  till  you  hear  from  father,"  observed 
Gret. 

"I  suppose  so,"  resignedly.  "How  much  money  have 
you  left,  Gret?" 

"I  've  got  seven  dollars  left  out  of  the  fifty  father  gave 
me  when  I  came  away,"  replied  Gret ;  "and  I  've  got  one 
hundred  dollars  in  my  trunk." 


28o  GRET 

"You  have!"  gasped  her  astonished  hostess.  "Where 
did  you  get  that,  pray  ?" 

"Out  of  the  bank  before  I  left  QuelUsh.  Thought  I 
might  need  it.  Never  can  tell.  Still,"  with  a  business- 
like air,  "I  don't  want  to  spend  it  if  I  can  help  it.  I  don't 
suppose  I  '11  ever  get  any  more— of  my  own— and— oh, 
can't  tell  what  may  turn  up.  Some  day  I  may  need  money 
awfully." 

"Quite  right,"  commented  Mrs.  Baring.  "You  're  the 
longest-headed  girl  for  your  age  that  I  ever  met.  Upon 
my  word,  you  are.    Is  n't  she,  Maude  ?" 

Maude  glanced  with  a  sort  of  friendly  smile  at  the 
girl.  "It  's  well  for  her  that  she  is,"  she  remarked  by 
way  of  reply. 

In  a  few  days  came  Mr.  Silway's  reply  to  Gret's  letter. 
He  enclosed  two  ten-dollar  bills,  with  the  remark  that  that 
was  all  he  could  spare  just  then.  He  informed  his  daugh- 
ter that  his  health  had  been  far  from  good  during  the  last 
two  months,  and  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  a  physician 
and  about  to  go  home  for  rest  and  recuperation.  Gret, 
who  knew  her  father  so  well,  read  smothered  rage  in 
every  line  of  the  curt,  yet  garrulous  communication. 

"If  only  he  had  me  there !"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "I  'm 
awfully  sorry  for  the  folks  at  home  when  he  goes  up  for 
a  rest.  He  '11  be  the  only  one  in  the  house  that  does  rest ; 
that 's  one  thing.  Well,  I  've  got  twenty  dollars,  anyway." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Baring  thoughtfully,  "we  must  man- 
age somehow.  I  don't  suppose  madame  will  charge  more 
than  twenty-five  or  thirty  dollars  for  making  a  plain,  un- 
trimmed  gown.  The  question  is,  would  you  have  it  made 
high  or  low  ?"  wondered  Mrs.  Baring. 

"I  always  think  a  high  neck  is  best  taste  for  a  debu- 
tante," answered  Maude.  "Don't  you  ?  Besides,  I  imag- 
ine Gret's  neck  is  still  brown  above  her  collar— browner 
than  the  underneath.    I  believe  it  would  show." 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       281 

"It  does  !"  corroborated  Gret.    'Tlain  as  a  timber-line." 

"Yes.  Well,  I  'd  have  it  shirred  right  up  to  the  neck, 
part  way  down  the  sleeves  and  a  puff  to  the  elbow,"  ad- 
vised Maude. 

"Yes,  I  believe  that  would  be  about  as  taking  as  any- 
thing," agreed  Mrs.  Baring.  "We  '11  take  her  to  madame 
this  very  afternoon."  Then  with  a  speculative  eye  on 
Gret :  "I  think  cream  ought  to  look  pretty  well  on  Gret." 

"No  doubt  it  will,"  agreed  Maude  with  her  lack  of  en- 
thusiasm. Maude  was  not  looking  altogether  her  serene 
self.  Round  about  her  mouth  were  nervous  lines  that  told 
of  a  soul  in  suspense  and  unrest.  Many  a  time  lately 
had  Maude  taken  herself  to  task  for  the  aimless  game  of 
waiting  she  was  playing ;  and  yet  she  could  not  tear  her- 
self away.  The  episode  of  the  Devreux  girl  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  first  'at-home'  had  shown  her  how  frail, 
after  all,  was  the  foundation  on  which  she  built  her 
hopes.  Some  day,  any  day,  might  sweep  them  out  of 
sight. 

"I  suppose,  Gret,"  said  the  voice  of  Bobbie,  breaking 
in  on  her  reflections,  as  that  gentleman  looked  up  from 
the  remains  of  a  cold  duck,  "you  '11  be  all  puffed  up  on 
the  night  of  the  jamboree  high-monkey-monk  in  a  new 
frock  made  by  a  Madame  Parlez-vous,  shirred  up  to  the 
neck  and  all  down  the  front—" 

"Bobbie,  don't  tease,"  remonstrated  his  mother. 

Gret  nodded  contentedly.    "Of  course." 

"Well,  you  're  welcome!"  said  Bobbie  with  a  chuckle. 
"You  '11  have  to  dance  with  every  guy  that 's  there !" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  responded  Gret  undisturbed.  "For 
one  thing,  I  can't  dance." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  as  if  a  bomb  had  sud- 
denly fallen  on  the  table.  Then  Mrs.  Baring  threw  up 
her  hands. 

"Goodness  gracious !    The  idea  of  giving  a  dance  for  a 


282  GRET 

girl  who  does  n't  dance !  Why  ever  did  n't  you  speak  be- 
fore ?" 

"Why,  I  never  thought  of  it!"  answered  Gret  truth- 
fully, a  trifle  surprised  herself  at  the  new  aspect  of  affairs. 

Bobbie  went  off  into  fits  of  laughter,  and  even  Maude 
laughed  heartily. 

"You  must  go  to  a  dancing-master  at  once,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Baring  still  horrified.  "I  Ve  bespoken  the  parlors. 
Besides,  I  Ve  mentioned  my  plans  to  several.  We  can't 
draw  back  now." 

"Oh,  Bobbie  and  I  can  teach  her,"  said  Maude,  still 
smiling.    "Can't  we,  Bobbie  ?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Bobbie,  grimly.  "I  've 
nothing  specially  tender  in  the  way  of  corns.  Just  as 
long  as  she  does  n't  want  to  dance  with  me  on  the  night." 

"But  I  shall,"  said  Gret  calmly.  "Because  you  '11  know 
how  I  dance.  If  I  dance  one  or  two  dances  with  you  I 
shall  begin  to  feel  my  feet." 

"Yes,  and  so  shall  I !"  said  Bobbie  ruefully.  "Don't 
see  why  /  should  be  crippled  up  at  the  start." 

"You  '11  get  over  it,"  observed  Gret,  philosophically. 

For  the  next  week  it  seemed  to  Gret  that  her  time  was 
about  equally  divided  between  the  modiste  and  the  parlor- 
carpet,  upon  which  she  mastered  some  of  the  intricacies 
of  modern  dancing.  She  soon  learned  the  different  steps, 
but  as  Bobbie  ungraciously,  but  truthfully,  remarked,  she 
would  never  make  a  good  dancer.  She  was  lithe  and 
sinuous  and  springy,  but  not  yielding ;  and  as  for  gliding, 
there  was  not  a  ghde  in  her  body. 

As  she  had  said  to  Eva,  there  were  some  things  in  her 
new  life  that  Gret  liked;  but,  take  it  all  in  all,  she  was 
heartily  tired  of  it  after  the  first  month.  And  if  just  to 
pay  the  visit  and  be  entertained  had  been  all  the  motive 
for  her  coming  to  San  Francisco,  Gret  would  assuredly 
have  been  back  home  before  this.    But  it  was  not  all,  nor 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       283 

the  beginning,  nor  anything  at  all  of  her  motive.  For  one 
thing,  she  had  calmly  decided  with  herself  that  it  was  ad- 
visable, if  not  exactly  necessary,  to  become  civilized,  or, 
at  all  events,  to  learn  what  civilization  was ;  and  for  an- 
other, she  was  following  her  lifelong  rule  of  taking  the 
good  whenever  she  could  and  meeting  the  evil  when  she 
must.  She  had  followed  a  star.  One  night  it  would  set 
suddenly  from  out  of  her  horizon;  but  at  least  she  had 
followed  it  as  long  as  she  could. 

One  afternoon  she  sat  thinking  of  these  things  when 
Ludlowe  entered  the  room ;  he  always  came  and  went  un- 
announced in  the  Baring  household.  Gret  was  alone  and 
sitting  very  still,  her  fingers  clasped  loosely  over  a  letter. 
It  was  this  letter  that  had  made  her  think. 

Ludlowe  seated  himself  in  a  long,  low  chair,  and  threw 
back  his  head  with  an  air  of  weariness  that  did  not 
escape  Gret.  He  looked  the  girl  over  from  between  half- 
closed  lids. 

"You  are  in  such  repose,  Gret,  that  it  is  quite  restful  to 
look  at  you.    What  have  you  there— a  letter  from  home  ?" 

"Yes."  Gret  rustled  the  letter  ever  so  little.  "It  is 
from  mother.  She  thinks  I  should  come  home  now.  I 
have  been  here  over  a  month,  and  she  does  n't  want  me  to 
outstay  my  welcome." 

Ludlowe  smiled.  "Have  you  enjoyed  yourself  so  far, 
Gret?" 

"Yes  and  no,"  replied  Gret,  smiling,  too. 

"Explain,"  commanded  Ludlowe,  amused. 

"Why,  there  were  some  things  I  knew  I  should  n't 
like,"  said  Gret  thoughtfully.  "And  then,  again,  there 
were  some  things  I  knew  I  should  like,  and  I  have." 

"I  observe  an  excellent  diplomat  in  embryo !"  said  Lud- 
lowe. "You  have  apparently  explained,  but  I  am  as 
wise  as  I  was  before." 

Gret  laughed,  but  offered  no  further  explanations,  and 


284  GRET 

Ludlowe  pursued  the  subject.  "May  I  inquire  what  you 
have  not  liked?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  much  for  the  parties  and  receptions, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing."  Gret  looked  a  trifle  apolo- 
getic. "It  seems  to  me  it  makes  people  very  busy  doing 
nothing." 

"It  does,"  agreed  Ludlowe.  "And  so  you  don't  think 
you  'd  like  to  live  this  life  altogether?" 

"No."  Gret  shook  her  head.  "I  can't  see  how  it  is 
necessary  for  people— even  those  that  belong  to  this  kind 
of  life— to  live  it  just  the  way  they  do." 

"There  is  no  necessity;  it  's  choice.  They  don't  know 
of  anything  better,"  explained  Ludlowe 

''You  don't  seem  to  have  to  be  on  the  go  all  the  time !" 

Ludlowe  smiled.  "Every  one  thinks  it  simply  shocking 
the  way  I  neglect  social  duties.  But  how  do  you  come  to 
be  alone,  Gret?" 

"Mrs.  Baring  and  Miss  Vibart  had  to  go  to  the  mo- 
diste's," explained  Gret,  pronouncing  the  French  word 
with  grave  ease ;  "and  then  they  had  a  few  calls  to  make. 
But  I  expect  they  '11  be  home  soon.  It  's  getting  late, 
is  n't  it?"  glancing  at  a  clock.  "Did  you  want  to  see 
Mrs.  Baring  very  particularly  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  calmly.  "I  think  I  'm  rather  glad  to  have 
missed  her." 

"Tired  ?"  inquired  Gret,  with  a  glance  of  keen  scrutiny. 

"I  have  an  intolerable  headache,"  replied  Ludlowe, 
smiling.    "Stupid  thing  for  a  man  to  have,  is  n't  it?" 

Gret  smiled,  but  said  nothing;  and  so  they  sat  in 
silence,  while  the  short,  swift  twilight  fell.  It  was  equally 
characteristic  of  both  that  if  nothing  specially  occurred  to 
them  to  say  they  recognized  no  necessity  for  speech. 

Presently,  however,  Ludlowe  rose.  "I  think  I  shall 
go,  Gret.  Aunt  will  be  appearing  on  the  scene  soon, 
now,  and  I  am  less  in  the  mood  for  talk  than  ever."    He 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       285 

held  out  his  hand,  and  in  response  to  this  Gret  got  up 
and  approached  him,  hardly  knowing  why.  She  glanced 
up  in  his  face,  feeling  more  than  seeing  the  gaze  of  the 
>quiet,  tired,  but  searching  eyes. 

''Does  your  head  still  ache?"  He  nodded.  "I  'm 
sorry.    Will  you  be  able  to  do  anything  for  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know."  He  looked  down  on  the  girl  with 
sudden  mischief.    "But  you  could  do  something  for  it." 

"I?"  She  scanned  his  face  questioningly.  "What 
could  I  do?" 

He  took  the  hands  clasped  loosely  before  her.  "You 
can  kiss  me  good-night." 

Gret  glanced  down  at  her  imprisoned  hands,  and  then 
looked  up  again  in  that  wide,  unshrinking  way  she  had 
when  startled  or  particularly  interested— just  as  he  knew 
she  would.  For  a  moment  or  so  she  met  calmly  enough 
the  sleepy,  yet  potent  gaze  of  the  man,  and  then,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  her  eyes  fell,  forced  down  by 
something  in  his.  The  warm  blood  flew  into  her  face,  and 
something  leaped  up  from  her  heart  and  seethed  in  her 
brain— something  bewildering,  and  yet  not  altogether 
strange.  For  no  simplicity,  however  absolute,  no  igno- 
rance of  the  ways  of  men  however  utter,  can  veil  away  for 
one  moment  the  primal  instincts  of  a  woman  who  stands 
before  her  master,  too  terribly  primitive  and  fundamental 
for  culture  ever  to  eliminate,  too  sweet  and  natural  for 
custom  ever  to  stale. 

Ludlowe  stood  looking  down  on  the  girl  for  a  moment, 
content  to  wait  on  her  hesitation.  Then,  still  with  the  in- 
dulgent smile  on  his  Hps,  he  bent  and  kissed  her,  whis- 
pering good-night  with  his  cheek  against  hers.  And  then 
he  left  her — a  woman  standing  at  the  gates  of  dawn. 

All  that  evening  Gret  was  very  quiet,  though  none  re- 
marked that  particularly,  for  she  was  often  so.  But  if 
those  around  her  had  not  been  so  intent  on  other  matters 


286  GRET 

they  might  have  remarked  the  faint,  sweet  smile  that 
played  about  her  lips  and  the  dreaming  light  in  the  usu- 
ally wide,  alert  eyes.  Like  most  quiet  people,  Gret  was 
very  intense.  Her  joys  and  her  sorrows  did  not  effer- 
vesce into  words  and  flow  over  into  the  ear  of  some  con- 
fidant. In  silence  within  her  they  grew  and  waxed 
strong.  A  kiss  set  on  her  lips  had  waked  undreamed-of 
passions,  and  all  that  night  she  lay  and  gazed  at  the  dark 
blue  of  the  sky  through  the  open  window  of  her  bedroom. 

But  the  next  morning  as,  taking  Ludlowe's  hand,  she 
climbed  into  the  auto  for  their  morning  drive,  she  veiled 
beneath  a  greater  deliberation  of  manner  than  usual  the 
faint  trepidation  of  spirit  that  would  make  itself  felt. 

Without  consulting  his  companion  as  to  the  direction 
of  their  drive  for  that  morning,  Ludlowe  turned  the  ma- 
chine up  the  avenue  for  Golden  Gate  Park.  "We  '11  drive 
to  the  Cliff  and  take  our  coffee  with  the  seals,"  he  re- 
marked.   "I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Gret." 

Gret  glanced  instantly  and  covertly  at  her  companion, 
and  Ludlowe  caught  the  look.  He  laughed.  "Why  do 
you  look  at  me  like  that?" 

"I  was  looking  to  see  if  you  were  cross,  and  were  per- 
haps going  to  give  mc  a  scolding,"  confessed  Gret,  smil- 
ing. 

"And  you  were  going  to  take  it  with  becoming  meek- 
ness, of  course  ?"  quizzed  Ludlowe.  "No,  I  am  not  going 
to  scold.    Going  to  have  a  little  business  chat  with  you." 

This  puzzled  Gret  more  than  ever;  but  she  asked  no 
questions,  and  they  drove  down  to  the  beach  with  little 
more  than  a  few  cursory  remarks  on  either  side.  At  the 
Cliff  House  Gret  walked  out  upon  the  veranda  and  sat 
down  near  the  parapet.  Ludlov/e  drew  a  seat  near  her, 
and  they  prepared  to  be  comfortable  for  a  half -hour  or  so. 
Ludlowe  inquired  if  she  would  care  for  coffee  just  then, 
but  Gret  thought  not.     "Well,  then,  we  11  talk  matters 


NOT  COUNTING  THE  COST       287 

over."  He  leaned  his  head  back  in  the  chair,  and  looked 
with  quiet,  amused  eyes  into  the  puzzled,  expectant  face 
of  the  girl  opposite  him.  "About  your  mother's  letter, 
Gret— have  you  answered  it  yet  ?" 

"No."  Gret  shook  her  head.  "I  was  going  to  speak  to 
Mrs.  Baring  about  it  to-day." 

"Yes?  Well,  I  did  n't  want  you  to  answer  it  until  I 
had  spoken  to  you,  and  that  is  why  I  choose  such  an  odd 
time  and  place  for  what  I  am  about  to  say."  He  glanced 
about.  They  were  quite  alone  on  th.e  wide,  overhanging 
verandah.  Then  his  eyes  wandered  out  to  sea,  and  then 
back  to  the  intent  face  of  the  girl.  "I  meant  to  wait  a 
little  longer  before  speaking.  Though  I  don't  think  it 
matters  very  much.  I  believe  you  can  form  an  opinion 
now  as  completely  and  safely  as  you  could  a  month  hence. 
You  have  seen  my  life,  Gret ;  or  at  least  something  of  it. 
Do  you  think  you  would  care  to  share  it?" 

Gret  started  violently,  and  gazed  at  the  man  before  her 
with  wide,  questioning  eyes.    "You  mean — " 

"Yes ;  I  mean  marry  me,  of  course."  And  then,  taking 
no  apparent  notice  of  her  amazement,  "Of  course,  it 
could  not  be  as  free  a  life  as  you  have  led ;  but  it  will  still 
be  more  free  than  the  lives  of  most  of  the  women  you 
can  observe  around  you.  We  will  not  trouble  society 
much,  nor  let  it  trouble  us.  And  to  begin  with,  to  break 
the  change,  I  would  send  for  the  yacht  and  take  you  on  a 
long  trip.  What  do  you  think  of  the  idea,  Gret?  We 
don't  either  of  us  run  to  sentiment  much ;  but  our  tastes 
seem  to  be  similar  in  the  main,  and  I  believe  we  should 
be  very  companionable.  Don't  you  think  so?  What  do 
you  say?" 

What  did  she  say!  It  seemed  to  Gret  that  the  blood 
released  from  her  heart  rushed  in  one  great  wave  to  her 
face,  even  blinding  her  eyes  for  the  moment.  She  could 
hardly  believe  that  in  this  quiet  way  he  was  asking  her  to 


288  GRET 

be  his  wife !  She  had  never  imagined  such  a  possibility. 
Why,  she  had  been  afraid,  she  had  thought — 

But  her  whole  being  turned  to  him  without  a  moment's 
thought.  She  did  not  think  for  a  second  of  the  wealth 
this  man  had,  nor  of  the  position  in  which  he  could  place 
her ;  she  thought  nothing  of  right  or  wrong,  of  the  past 
or  of  the  future.  She  only  knew  that  he  said  "Come  and 
be  with  me."  And  if  death  had  threatened  every  step  of 
her  way,  she  would  not  have  hesitated. 

For  love  has  no  yesterday  and  no  to-morrow ;  it  has  but 
to-day. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   SUMMONS    HOME 

IN  the  days  that  first  followed  the  announcement  of  her 
engagement  to  Errol  Ludlowe,  Gret  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  current  events,  or  the  actions  of  those  around 
her,  or  she  would  surely  have  noticed  many  more  things 
than  she  did.  Maude  was  confined  to  her  room  with  a 
bad  headache  for  two  days,  but  Gret  thought  nothing  par- 
ticularly of  it.  There  was  no  very  perceptible  change  in 
her  manner  when  she  emerged  from  her  solitude,  for 
Maude  was  too  diplomatic  to  let  her  sore  amaze  and  de- 
feat be  seen.  Neither  would  she  beat  any  very  hasty  re- 
treat from  the  field ;  she  had  too  much  pride  for  that. 

And  congratulations  flowed  in  upon  Gret  from  all  sides, 
accompanied  by  such  a  marked  change  of  bearing  on  the 
part  of  her  acquaintances  that,  if  Gret  had  been  less 
wrapped  up  in  herself  and  her  happiness  than  she  was, 
she  must  have  noticed  and  been  amused. 

Within  a  few  days  there  came  replies  from  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Silway  to  the  letters  addressed  to  each  by  Lud- 
lowe. Gret  also  received  a  letter  from  each  of  her  par- 
ents. Mrs.  Silway  expressed  quiet  pleasure  at  the  news 
sent  her ;  Mr.  Silway,  in  transmitting  the  requisite  paren- 
tal consent,  expressed  the  same  amount  of  pleasure  in  a 
more  pompous  way.  But  from  Eva  came  never  a  word ; 
and  Gret  wondered  at  that. 

Backed  by  instructions  from  Ludlowe,  Mrs.   Baring 

i»  289 


290  GRET 

made  a  very  handsome  affair  of  the  dance  she  gave  for 
Gret.  The  news  of  the  girl's  engagement  leaked  about 
with  great  rapidity,  too,  and  made  a  great  many  anxious 
to  see  her  who  otherwise  would  not  have  been  in  the  least 
interested.  On  the  eventful  evening  Gret  stood  by  Mrs. 
Baring,  as  did  also  Maude,  and,  for  a  time,  Bobbie.  The 
latter,  as  soon  as  the  room  began  to  fill,  flitted  off,  how- 
ever, followed  by  a  warning  glance  from  Gret,  to  which 
he  replied  with  an  artfully  concealed  grimace. 

Gret  contrived  to  get  through  her  dances  without  any 
very  great  show  of  awkwardness,  though  doubtless  her 
partners  realized  that  they  had  danced  with  better  dancers. 
She  liked  standing  and  looking  on  better  than  anything 
else,  a  predilection  which  Mrs.  Baring  discovered  and 
warned  her  against.  If  she  could  have  done  this,  she 
would  have  been  content  all  night,  her  eyes  were  so  keen 
to  catch  every  move,  every  little  scheme,  each  decoying 
glance.  As,  however,  she  had  to  talk  and  dance  and 
otherwise  make  herself  agreeable,  she  was  bored  before 
two  hours  were  over. 

To  her  delight  and  relief,  while  the  evening  was  yet 
young,  Ludlowe  and  Massinger  came  in  together.  Ar- 
thur, while  not  leaning  greatly  toward  dances  or  any- 
thing of  that  kind,  and  attending  this  one  purely  on  Gret's 
account,  did  not  share  the  dislike,  on  moral  grounds,  that 
many  of  his  clerical  brethren  cherished.  Bobbie  brought 
the  two  men  up  to  Gret,  who  greeted  them  with  open  sat- 
isfaction. 

"Give  me  the  next  dance,  Gret,"  said  Ludlowe,  taking 
her  program.    "It  's  a  waltz." 

"No.  "Don't  want  it,"  advised  Gret.  "You  know  I 
don't  dance,  really." 

"Never  mind.  You  may  as  well  dance  with  me  as  any 
one,"  repHed  Ludlowe,  scribbling  his  initials. 

"Well,  not  a  waltz,  then.    I  do  a  minuet  best." 


THE  SUMMONS  HOME  291 

"Listen  to  her !  'Do  it !'  "  said  Bobbie.  "She  does  'do' 
a  minuet  pretty  well,  though.    She  bends  nicely." 

Ludlowe  laughed.     "How  do  you  like  dancing,  Gret?" 

"I  don't  call  it  dancing,"  replied  Gret,  glancing  at  the 
couples  just  gHding  off  into  a  dreamy  waltz  melody.  "I 
call  it  wriggling  round." 

"  'Breathes  there  a  girl  with  soul  so  dead !' "  gasped 
Bobbie. 

"There  was  a  time  in  my  callow  youth— about  the  age 
of  Bobbie  here,"  said  Ludlowe  with  a  glance  at  that  gen- 
tleman, "when  I  thought  dancing  the  most  divine  inven- 
tion of  the  ages.  Now  certain  conditions  must  be  present 
before  I  can  tolerate  it  at  all.  Gret,  let  's  you  and  I  con- 
spire together.  I  '11  put  my  name  down  for  three  dances 
if  you  '11  promise  to  sit  them  out." 

"Oh,  yes !"  agreed  Gret  with  delight.  "In  that  way  we 
can  sit  and  look  on  most  of  the  time,  can't  we?'" 

"Yes,  and  mother  won't  do  a  thing  to  you  to-morrow," 
threatened  Bobbie. 

"Nor  to  you  with  your  slang.  Be  off,  young  man!" 
said  Ludlowe  sternly.  "Had  n't  you  a  partner  for  this 
waltz?" 

"Yes,  but  she  wants  to  sit  it  out  with  young  Leland." 

"How  do  you  know  she  does?' 

"Because  she  's  tucked  carefully  away  behind  a  palm," 
responded  Bobbie  with  a  grin.  "She  would  n't  be  if  she 
wanted  me  to  find  her.  Of  course,  I  shall  say  I  looked 
everywhere,  and  do  the  injured!" 

"Of  course— hypocrite !" 

"Yes.  I  'm  having  a  lovely  time!"  declared  .Bobbie 
with  a  bland  smile.  He  turned  on  his  heel.  "Now  I  'm 
going  to  put  the  mater  next  to  your  little  dodges." 

He  did  not,  of  course.  But  it  might  almost  be  thought 
that  he  had,  for  that  lady  surprised  the  three  as 
they  were  sitting  out  the  third  dance  and  broke  up  the 


292  GRET 

combine  immediately.  She  took  Gret  to  be  introduced 
to  a  big  railroad  man's  wife,  and  Errol  she  almost  com- 
manded : 

"You  dance  with  Maude,  now,  Errol.  You  need  not 
slight  her  altogether." 

Ludlowe  glanced  at  his  aunt,  a  certain  slight  drooping 
of  the  lids  betraying  displeasure.  "I  have  n't  danced  with 
any  one  so  far.  I  certainly  have  no  wish  to  neglect  Miss 
Vibart  any  more  than  any  other  of  my  friends." 

Mrs.  Baring  safely  launched  Gret  on  a  waltz,  which 
eventually  landed  her  high  and  dry  at  the  top  of  the  long 
ball-room.  The  railroad  man's  wife  was  sitting  near 
where  Mrs.  Baring  stood,  and  she  motioned  to  Gret  to  be 
seated  by  her  side.  She  was  disposing  of  an  ice,  and 
Gret  's  partner  went  to  fetch  one  for  her. 

"This  is  your  first  season,"  opined  Mrs.  Railroad  affa- 
bly. 

"Yes." 

"And  I  expect  you  find  it  all  new  and  delightful." 

"I  find  most  of  it  idiotic,"  responded  Gret.  She  had 
hated  her  waltz,  and  was  in  an  aggressively  truthful  mood. 

"Indeed !"  The  smile  was  still  on  the  august  lady's  lips, 
but  it  was,  perhaps,  not  quite  so  condescending  and  pleas- 
ant. "Well,  when  you  become  a  hostess  we  shall  see  what 
innovations  you  make.  What— er— idiotic  element  shall 
you  eliminate  from  your  affairs,  pray  ?" 

"The  smiling,  if  I  could,"  said  Gret. 

"The  what?" 

"The  smiling.  Does  n't  it  make  you  tired— the  perpet- 
ual smiling  of  every  one?"  inquired  Gret  confidentially. 
"They  smile  when  they  come  and  when  they  go  and  all  the 
way  between.  I  think  they  're  afraid  people  would  be 
insulted  if  they  were  to  stop  for  a  minute.  If  I  were  a 
hostess  I  think  I  would  have  a  sign  tacked  up  all  along 
my  wall :  'Not  required  to  smile  all  the  time.'  '* 


THE  SUMMONS  HOME  293 

"Well,  who  ever  heard!"  breathed  the  railroad  man's 
wife,  swallowing  her  last  mouthful  of  ice  with  a  dis- 
tinct effort. 

But  Gret  did  not  observe  the  effect  of  her  words  on  her 
companion.  Her  partner  came  up  with  an  ice,  and  she 
ate  it  reflectively.  Then  she  glanced  at  her  program. 
The  next  dance  was  a  quadrille  with  the  initials  E.  L. 
against  it,  and  she  gave  a  little  inward  sigh  of  relief. 
She  did  not  trouble  to  talk  to  the  important  and  somewhat 
supercilious  youth  at  her  side,  but  sat  looking  down  the 
long  room  with  its  crowd  of  handsomely  dressed  beings. 
A  great  many  of  them— the  younger  ones,  anyway — 
looked  happy.  She  wondered  if  they  were  really,  if  any  of 
them  were  as  happy  as  she  was.  And  then  somehow  her 
thoughts  went  out  to  Gabrielle.  Poor  Gabrielle,  born  into 
wrong  and  misfortune,  and  too  gentle,  Gret  felt,  to  ever 
force  her  way  out  of  adverse  circumstances.  Ludlowe 
came  up,  and  Gret  glanced  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"This  is  my  dance,  I  think,  Gret,"  he  said  with  com- 
mendable gravity.  And  Gret  rose,  and,  bowing  to  her 
previous  partner,  went  off  with  content  in  her  heart. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  she  said,  as  Ludlowe  piloted  her 
to  a  shady  corner  whereof  he  knew,  "that  I  wish  Gabrielle 
were  here." 

"I  'm  glad  she  is  n't,"  replied  Ludlowe  quietly. 

"Oh,  well,"  went  on  Gret  quickly,  "there  are  too  many 
here  to— to — you  know — And  we  could  have  kept  her 
happy." 

"That  is  the  first  time,  Gret,  that  I  remember  hearing 
you  speak  a  broken  or  hesitating  sentence,"  reproved 
Ludlowe.  "Your  frank  outspokenness  is  usually  one  of 
the  best  things  about  you.  Is  society  spoiling  you  al- 
ready?" 

"Well,  I  meant,  to  be  unkind  to  her,  and  did  n't  know 
how  to  put  it,"  apologized  Gret.    "Because  unkind  is  n't 


294  GRET 

exactly  the  thing.  You  see,  I  need  new  words  nowa- 
days." 

"You  think  there  are  too  many  here  for  all  to  give  her 
the  cold  shoulder?"  said  Ludlowe.  "Oh,  it  's  wonderful 
how  that  sort  of  thing  spreads.  There  's  Arthur.  He  's 
looking  for  us,  no  doubt.  How  can  we  attract  his  atten- 
tion without  attracting  that  of  other  people  as  well,  I 
wonder,    Wave  your  program  gently,  Gret." 

Gret  did  so,  and  Arthur's  searching  eye  caught  the 
movement.  He  came  up  gladly  and  seated  himself  with  a 
little  sigh  that  might  be  either  weariness  or  relief.  He 
was  looking  handsome,  though  very  tired  and  worn. 

"Well,  Gret,"  glancing  down  on  her  with  gentle  curi- 
osity, "does  all  this  enchant  you  ?" 

"No."  Gret  shook  her  head  summarily.  "Although," 
she  added  quickly,  "I  think  it  's  awfully  good  of  Mrs. 
Baring  to  do  all  this  for  me.  Of  course,  she  thinks  I  '11 
like  it.     I  suppose  I  'm  too  green  yet." 

"Too  sensible  is  nearer  the  mark,"  asserted  Ludlowe, 
consulting  a  small  watch  produced  from  somewhere  out 
of  sight. 

"What  time  is  it?"  inquired  Gret. 

"Quarter  to  two.  Arthur,  you  're  worn  out,  old  man. 
Go  home  and  turn  in." 

"How  much  longer  will  this  last  ?"  wondered  Gret. 

"Not  much  after  three,  I  think,"  said  Ludlowe.  "Aunt 
and  Miss  Vibart  won't  be  up  till  after  noon  to-morrow, 
Gret.    What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Gret  thoughtfully. 

"What  would  you  like  to  do  ?" 

"I  should  like  to  go  down  town  and  look  in  all  the 
store-windows  just  as  long  as  I  like,"  replied  Gret 
promptly. 

Ludlowe  groaned.  "Well !  So  be  it,  then.  Can't  you 
come,  Arthur  ?'* 


THE  SUMMONS  HOME  295 

"There  's  a  woman  dying  slowly  of  consumption  in  a 
room  on  Howard  Street,"  he  said.  "She  has  n't  a  soul  to 
do  anything  for  her.  And  so  Patty — that  's  a  poor  girl  I 
have  with  me — and  I  go  every  morning  and  make  her  as 
comfortable  as  we  can.  It  does  Patty  good;  makes  her 
forget  her  own  troubles.  It  would  make  it  too  late  for 
you  to  wait  for  me." 

Gret  looked  sympathetic.  "Can't  we  come  and  see  her 
too?" 

"That  would  only  embarrass  her,"  said  Arthur  gently. 

At  three  the  people  began  to  go,  as  Ludlowe  had  pre- 
dicted. But  it  was  four  o'clock  before  Mrs.  Baring  and 
her  party  were  free  to  put  on  their  wraps  and  drive  home. 
Once  in  bed,  Gret  did  not  review  the  events  of  the  eve- 
nixig,  but  promptly  fell  asleep. 

It  had  been  arranged  between  Gret,  Ludlowe  and  Mrs. 
Baring  that  she  should  remain  in  San  Francisco  for  at 
least  another  month  before  going  home  to  prepare  for  her 
marriage.  Mrs.  Baring  predicted  that,  as  soon  as  the 
news  of  her  engagement  to  Ludlowe  became  known,  Gret 
would  be  entertained  far  and  wide— a  prospect  that  did 
not  fill  her  with  very  great  delight.  However,  Gret  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  home  one  morning  that  altered  the 
situation.    It  was  written  by  Eva  at  her  mother's  request. 

"Dear  Gret  :"  (she  wrote) 

"Mother  wants  you  to  come  home  just  as  soon  as  you 
get  this.  Father  is  very  sick.  We  have  a  nurse  in  the 
house  and  one  doctor.  Another  doctor  is  coming  from 
Portland  to-morrow.  If  he  says  so,  father  will  have  an 
operation.    Mother  says  please  take  the  very  next  train. 

"Your  loving  sister, 

"Eva." 


296  GRET 

Gret  frowned  reflectively  as  she  read  the  letter.  She 
was  struck  by  the  entire  absence  of  any  personal  note  in 
the  communication— "Mother  says" —  and  then  Eva  had 
never  written  since  the  news  of  her  engagement  reached 
home.  Could  she  be  offended  in  any  way?  However, 
she  would  soon  see.  She  put  the  letter  into  Mrs.  Baring's 
hands  without  a  word. 

"Dear  me!  Sounds  quite  urgent;  what  a  pity!"  ex- 
claimed that  lady.    "I  suppose  you—" 

"Yes,  I  must  go  home  at  once,"  said  Gret  quietly. 
"When  is  the  next  train?" 

That  evening  Ludlowe  and  Arthur,  Bobbie  and  Mrs. 
Baring  escorted  Gret  over  to  Oakland  in  order  to  see  her 
safely  on  the  Southern  Pacific  train.  It  was  a  frankly 
regretful  group  that  stood  to  say  good-by  as  the  girl  was 
about  to  board  the  car.  Gret's  dislike  at  parting  was 
openly  expressed. 

Ludlowe  kissed  her  good-by,  Bobbie  insisted  on  follow- 
ing suit,  and  Arthur  refused  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold. 
And  so  Gret  kissed  them  all,  and  then  a  moment  later 
went  on  board,  followed  by  the  procession  laden  with 
candy,  rugs,  and  magazines.  She  was  safely  ensconced  in 
a  chair,  hedged  about  with  all  possible  comfort,  then  the 
train  pulled  out  and  Gret  was  gone. 

Bobbie  was  unusually  silent  as  they  crossed  back  to  San 
Francisco.  Presently  he  turned  on  his  unsuspecting 
mother. 

"Good  old  Gret !  I  '11  tell  you  what— that  's  a  pretty 
good  walk-over  for  the  camp-girl.  Eh,  mother?  And 
we  're  every  one  of  us  sorry  to  see  her  go,  too.  You  bet ! 
Gret  's  a  little  devil,  and  is  going  to  do  just  as  she  likes ; 
but  her  heart  's  in  the  right  place  all  the  time." 

"Bobbie!"  breathed  his  scandalized  mother. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   FIRST   SHADOW 

FOR  once,  as  she  went  northward,  Gret's  fellow-pas- 
sengers were  not  of  such  absorbing  and  satisfying  in- 
terest as  usual.  She  treated  each  one  to  a  more  or  less 
cursory  inspection  and  then  turned  back  to  the  window 
and  her  own  reflections,  from  which  none  attempted  to 
arouse  her.  The  sociably  and  charitably  inclined  were 
not  moved  to  pity  by  her  solitary  state,  for  her  expression 
was  too  thoughtful  and  businesslike  to  be  construed  into 
one  of  loneliness ;  and  the  flirtatiously  inclined  among  the 
men  could  find  no  possible  excuse  for  advances  in  the 
casual  glances  she  now  and  then  cast  about  the  car. 

Gret's  thoughts  were  divided  between  her  destination 
and  the  scenes  she  had  just  left.  She  thought  for  a  while, 
with  a  little  smile  on  her  lips,  of  the  leave-taking  at  Oak- 
land, and  over  the  wide,  bright  eyes  there  fell  the  strange, 
mistlike  curtain  of  a  soul  withdrawn  for  the  moment 
from  outward  things. 

Then  Gret  thought  of  home,  and  of  Eva's  letter,  and  of 
her  father's  illness.  She  wondered  if  it  were  really  seri- 
ous, or  if  he  were  just  making  his  usual  fuss  about  noth- 
ing. In  that  case  Gret  hardly  thought  her  mother  would 
cause  her  to  be  sent  for.  She  wondered  and  then  sud- 
denly she  ceased  her  speculations  as  a  futile  occupation. 
Soon  she  would  be  home  to  see  for  herself. 

She  stayed  one  night  in  Portland.  Knowing  no  other, 
she  got  into  the  Hotel  Portland  'bus  and  was  driven  tx) 

»97 


298  GRET 

that  commodious  hostelry.  Next  morning  she  paid  her 
bill  with  much  inward  wonderment,  but  no  outward 
comment.  She  was  not  much  accustomed  to  using  her 
arithmetical  powers,  but  a  hasty  computation  of  the  prob- 
able cost  of  each  year  of  the  many  her  father  had  spent 
there  occurred  to  her. 

As  she  completed  the  final  and  most  primitive  stages 
of  .her  homeward  journey,  Gret  was  conscious  of  a  hu- 
mor, an  amusement,  that  had  not  before  been  possible  to 
her.  Before  this  comparisons  of  any  kind  had  been  out 
of  the  question  for  one  who  knew  little  beyond  the  simple 
life  of  the  backwoods.  Now  she  knew  at  least  two  as- 
pects of  life,  two  so  entirely  at  variance  that  she  could 
not  but  be  amused;  she  exercised  an  odd,  unconscious 
care,  however,  that  her  comparisons  did  not  belittle  that 
life  to  which  she  was  still  quite  loyal. 

It  was  early  evening  when  Gret  finally  reached  Quell- 
ish.  It  had  been  raining,  for  the  starlight  sparkled  on 
wet  roof  and  walk ;  but  the  air  was  soft  and  fragrant,  and 
its  damp  sweetness  was  dear  to  the  nostrils  of  the  North- 
ern girl.  She  walked  quickly  through  the  Httle  town,  not 
pausing  to  reveal  herself  to  the  many  acquaintances  who 
passed  unsuspectingly  by  the  smartly  dressed  girl.  At 
the  foot  of  the  loggers'  steps  several  boats  were  moored 
together.  Gret  suspected  that  they  were  mostly  from  her 
own  camp,  but  not  being  able  to  distinguish  much  in  the 
starlight,  she  felt  carefully  on  the  oars  for  the  rough 
carven  "S"  that  distinguished  the  camp  boats,  and,  hav- 
ing found  it,  climbed  unceremoniously  into  the  outer  boat 
and  rowed  off. 

As  she  felt  the  grip  of  her  oars  on  the  water,  and  felt 
the  boat  glide  obediently  forward,  Gret  gave  a  little  sigh 
of  satisfaction.  The  old  sense  of  defiant  freedom  came 
back  to  her.  Before  half  a  mile  was  covered  her  coat  was 
pulled  off  and  the  stylish  collar  and  trim  belt  summarily 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  299 

removed.  The  river  was  a  ribbon  of  softest  velvet,  span- 
gled over  with  starbeams,  and  the  pines  whispered  in  lit- 
tle tittering  rushes  of  sound.  And  Gret  rowed  evenly 
and  leisurely,  having  no  particular  desire  to  hurry  her 
long  row  to  a  close. 

Arrived  at  her  landing,  however,  she  grasped  her  long 
skirts  in  both  hands  and  scampered  up  the  steps  in  her 
old  lithe  way.  There  was  an  unusual  number  of  lights 
about  the  house,  otherwise  all  was  quiet  as  usual,  and 
Gret  passed  round  to  the  kitchen  from  long  force  of  habit. 
Standing  with  arms  akimbo,  staring  vacantly  out  through 
the  open  door,  was  Lizzie,  and  she  jumped  with  a  star- 
tled scream  as  Gret  appeared  in  the  square  of  darkness 
formed  by  the  doorway. 

"Gracious  me,  Gret!"  And  then,  her  quick  feminine 
eye  taking  in  the  radical  change  in  the  girl's  appear- 
ance: 

"Goodness,  it  did  n't  take  long  to  make  a  fine  lady  out 
of  you,  did  it?" 

"Did  n't  take  long  to  make  me  look  like  one,"  amended 
Gret  briefly. 

She  entered  and  threw  herself  in  the  little  wooden 
rocker  that  was  Lizzie's  one  article  of  luxury.  She 
looked  round  the  small  kitchen,  with  its  scrubbed  floor 
and  table  and  ancient  cookstove,  with  smiling  eyes.  How 
"homey"  it  all  was,  after  all. 

"Ma  write  for  you  to  come  home  ?"  queried  Lizzie,  who 
was  still  "taking  her  in." 

"No." 

"Eva  did,  then?" 

Gret  nodded,  looking  at  Lizzie  with  a  smile.  "Got  any 
coflfee,  Lizzie?" 

"Oh,  my !"  Lizzie  reached  the  stove  in  two  jumps,  and 
drew  the  kettle  forward.  "Never  thought  about  that! 
Are  you  hungry,  Gret  ?"    Gret  nodded  again.    Lizzie  dis- 


300  GRET 

appeared  into  the  pantry.  ''Like  a  piece  of  warm  mince 
pie  ?"  she  inquired  from  within. 

"Yes,"  said  Gret,  "and  some  cottage  cheese  and  bread 
and  butter,  and— that 's  all  I  want,  Lizzie." 

Lizzie  prepared  this  menu  with  much  whisking  and 
fussing,  and  then,  when  Gret  was  fairly  started  on  the 
meal,  seated  herself  near  and  prepared  to  converse. 

"What  all  did  you  do  down  in  San  Francisco,  Gret?" 

Gret  laughed.  "No  good  beginning  to  tell  you  to- 
night, Lizzie.  I  'd  never  get  through."  And  then,  in  or- 
der to  divert  Lizzie's  conversational  bent  into  other  chan- 
nels :  "How  is  father  to-night  ?" 

"Operated  to-day,"  replied  Lizzie.  "There  's  two  doc- 
tors and  a  nurse  there ;  and  one  went  home  to-day." 

"Oh !"  Gret  opened  her  eyes.  "Has  he  been  operated 
on  already  ?"    Lizzie  nodded.    "When  ?" 

"This  afternoon." 

"Well!    What  was  it  for?    Did  it  take  long?" 

"Yes — 'pendicitis,"  explained  Lizzie  in  triumph. 

"Oh !"  said  Gret,  who  had  not  the  faintest  idea  in  the 
world  as  to  the  type  of  malady  represented  by  that  term. 
"Two  doctors  with  him?"  she  repeated. 

"Well,  one  of  them  's  gone  home,"  amended  Lizzie; 
"but  there  's  a  nurse !"  And  she  gave  a  slight  additional 
lift  to  the  organ  already  elevated  by  nature. 

Gret  was  quick  to  catch  the  gesture.  "Don't  like  her  ?" 
she  queried. 

"No !  Never  saw  such  a  got-up  thing  in  your  life," 
declared  Lizzie.  "Blue  print  dress,  all  starched.  Apron 
with  great  long  strings  all  spread  out,"  spreading  her 
hands  in  an  imaginary  fan  behind  herself.  "Cuffs.  Cap 
with  more  strings.  Humph !  Thinks  she  's  such  a  boss 
cook,  too,  that  nobody  else  but  her  can  do  anything.  And 
picks  up  everything  like  she  was  afraid  it  was  awful 
dirty!" 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  301 

Gret  laughed,  both  at  Lizzie's  portrayal  of  the  obnox- 
ious nurse  and  at  the  mental  picture  she  could  conjure  up 
of  their  attitude  toward  one  another. 

"Does  she  eat  down-stairs  with  us  ?"  she  inquired.  Liz- 
zie nodded.    "Where  's  Eva,  I  wonder,"  said  Gret  then. 

"Up-stairs,  I  guess." 

"And  mother?" 

"Don't  know  if  she  's  up-stairs  or  not." 

In  a  few  moments  Gret  went  along  the  little,  narrow 
passage  that  led  to  the  front  of  the  house  in  search  of  her 
mother.  Contemplation  seemed  to  be  the  order  of  the 
evening,  for  Mrs.  Silway,  too,  sat  gazing  before  her, 
hands  folded  in  her  lap.  Her  quiet  eyes  fell  on  Gret, 
noting  instantly  with  a  certain  quick  pleasure  the  marked 
change  in  her  appearance.  Then  she  rose  and  kissed  her 
with  a  kindly  smile  of  welcome. 

"I  'm  so  glad  you  Ve  come,  Gret.  I  have  been  afraid 
that  perhaps  Eva  did  not  make  it  sufficiently  imperative 
that  you  should  start  at  once,  and  I  was  too  worried  at  the 
time  to  give  her  very  explicit  instructions.  Moreover, 
matters  then  were  not  so  serious  as  they  are  now.  Your 
father  underwent  an  operation  at  noon,  and  the  surgeon 
cannot  say  as  yet  whether  it  is  going  to  be  a  success  or 
not.  But  I  imagine  from  their  manner  that  neither  of  the 
doctors  feels  over-confident  of  the  issue,  and  that  your 
father's  life  hangs  in  a  very  uncertain  balance.  I  'm  thank- 
ful you  've  arrived.  You  must  have  some  supper.  Take 
off  your  hat." 

"I  have  had  some  supper,  thank  you,  mother,"  said 
Gret  quietly.  "Lizzie  gave  me  some.  But  I  quite  forgot 
that  I  still  had  my  hat  on." 

Accustomed  as  she  was  to  Gret's  deliberate,  business- 
like ways,  Mrs.  Silway  looked  at  the  girl  half  in  amuse- 
ment.    Gret  returned  the  gaze,  not  amused,  but  critical. 

"You  look  very  tired,  mother." 


302  GRET 

"I  had  rather  a  tiring  time  before  the  nurse  came," 
said  Mrs.  Silway. 

"Does  she  .stay  with  father  all  the  time  now,  then?" 

"Oh,  of  course.  Since  the  operation  he  is  not  left  a 
minute.  And  no  one  is  allowed  to  see  him.  I  don't  im- 
agine," thoughtfully,  "that  they  would  allow  even  you  to 
see  him  to-night." 

"Oh,  I  can  see  him  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  said  Gret 
calmly. 

Mrs.  Silway  winced  ever  so  slightly  at  the  calm  words, 
although  she  appreciated  the  utter  lack  of  hypocrisy  that 
prompted  them. 

"He  has  inquired  for  you  several  times,"  she  said 
rather  gently. 

"Has  he?"    Gret  looked  surprised.     "What  for?" 

The  question  was  not  put  with  any  harsh  intent.  In 
health  her  father's  inquiries  for  her  had  generally  meant 
some  protest  or  complaint,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
sickness  would  alter  matters  very  materially. 

Mrs.  Silway  smiled  gravely.  "If  you  faced  the  near 
possibility  of  death,  Gret,  would  n't  you  want  all  your 
own  people  near  you  ?" 

Gret  reflected  the  matter  impartially  for  a  moment.  "I 
don't  know,"  she  said  then;  "can't  quite  imagine  how  it 
would  feel.  Still,  it  seems  to  me  I  would  n't  want  them 
much  more  than  at  any  other  time." 

Mrs.  Silway  started  to  answer,  and  then  paused.  There 
was  nothing  in  fairness  to  be  said.  But  it  seemed  as  if 
there  faded  out  of  her  heart  as  utterly  superfluous  and 
inopportune  the  last  remnant  of  that  cold  resentment 
stored  for  years  against  the  man  lying  up-stairs.  Before 
herj  in  this  stern  and  uncompromising  young  intelligence, 
she  saw  an  ample  avenging  spirit  for  all  the  years  of 
neglect  and  selfishness  endured ;  and,  not  being  naturally 
cruel  or  vindictive,  it  saddened  her  a  little. 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  303 

"I  suppose  Evie  's  up-stairs,  is  n't  she,  mother?"  que- 
ried Gret,  concluding  by  her  mother's  silence  that  the  pre- 
vious topic  was  closed. 

"I  expect  so.  She  is  a  very  nervous  child,  and  has  been 
looking  quite  worried  out  these  last  few  days,"  said  Mrs. 
Silway. 

"I  think  I  '11  go  and  look  for  her,  then,"  observed  Gret ; 
and  her  mother  nodded  assent  absently. 

Gret  went  quietly  up-stairs  in  search  of  her  sister,  and 
opened  very  softly  the  door  of  her  little  bedroom.  Eva 
was  sitting  looking  out  of  the  open  window,  and  she  lan- 
guidly turned  her  head  as  she  heard  the  door-latch  move. 
When  she  saw  Gret  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  surprise,  and 
jumping  up  ran  across  to  the  girl  and  gave  her  an  affec- 
tionate hug.  Gret  returned  the  hug  with  interest,  and  then 
held  her  sister  away  from  her  and  surveyed  her  criti- 
cally. The  heavy-lidded  eyes  drooped  in  a  listless  way, 
and  an  expression  of  discouragement  or  discontent,  or 
both,  replaced  the  well-remembered  look  of  dreamy 
serenity. 

"What  's  the  matter,  Evie  ?"  she  demanded.  "Are  you 
so  scared  about  father?" 

"No,"  quickly ;  and  then  somewhat  contritely  :  "No— 
I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  thought  about  that  as  much  as  I 
ought.  I  could  n't  somehow.  I— I—"  Her  voice  trailed 
off  and  her  eyes  wandered  over  Gret's  figure,  at  first  ab- 
sently and  then  becoming  critical.  "Spoilt  everything 
for  you,  too,  has  n't  it  ?  Just  when  you  were  having  such 
a  good  time.  But  then,  he  always  did  spoil  things."  The 
curve  of  disgust  and  discontent  deepened  on  her  lips. 

"Oh,  no !"  said  Gret  quietly,  but  a  trifle  surprised,  "I 
was  coming  home  soon  anyway." 

"Shall  you— I  suppose  you  won't  go  back  now  until  you 
're  married?"    Gret  shook  her  head. 

"How  soon  will  that  be?'  demanded  Eva. 


304  GRET 

Gret  shook  her  head  again.  "Can't  tell,  of  course.  If 
father  gets  well  it  might  be  quite  soon.  If  not—"  She 
lifted  her  eyebrows  slightly  in  token  of  her  inability  to 
judge. 

Eva  sat  down  in  her  seat  by  the  window  again,  and 
looked  out  into  the  night  for  a  moment.  Then,  with  an 
effort,  she  seemed  to  banish  whatever  discontent  was  as- 
sailing her.  She  turned  back  to  Gret  and  stretched  out 
her  hand  affectionately. 

"Come  and  sit  down,  Grettie  dear,  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  lovely  time  you  've  had,  and  how  you  came  to  get  en- 
gaged." 

"Oh,  there  is  n't  much  to  tell  about  that,"  said  Gret, 
with  a  slight  laugh.  She  knew  that  to  no  one  in  the  world 
could  she  ever  voice  one  word  of  the  tenderness  that  was 
in  her.  "But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  it  is  you  did  n't 
write  when  I  told  you  about  it." 

Eva  colored  unmistakably.  "I— I  meant  to,  Gret.  I 
wanted  to.  I  would  have — pretty  soon."  She  glanced 
deprecatingly  at  her  sister  for  a  moment  as  that  young 
woman  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  gazed  at  her  in  an 
open  perplexity  that  was  almost  comical,  and  then  looked 
moodily  out  of  the  window  again. 

Presently  she  turned  her  head  back,  her  eyes  wandering 
once  more  appraisingly  over  Gret's  attire.  "You  '11  be  a 
great  lady,  won't  you?"  she  said  musingly.  "I  think 
you  '11  look  it,  too.  I  did  think  you  never  could  dress  up 
and  be  styHsh,  but  I  see  you  can.  Well !"  She  smiled 
up  into  Gret's  face.  "If  you  love  him  it  's  all  right- 
though  I  'd  hate  to  be  a  society  woman.  I  just  want  a 
quiet  home  with— with  the  man  I  want." 

Gret  nodded,  a  faint  smile  on  her  lips.  She  quite  be- 
lieved the  sincerity  of  Eva's  sentiments ;  but  she  could  not 
help  giving  just  a  stray  thought  to  the  quiet  home  that 
Eva  would  keep,  unless  she  had  servants  to  keep  it. 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  305 

"Come  along;  sit  down,  Gret,"  commanded  Eva  again, 
giving  an  inviting  pat  to  the  little  old  rocker  that  had 
been  her  childhood's  delight.  "Or  are  you  going  down- 
stairs again?" 

"No— yes,"  replied  Gret.  "I  did  n't  say  good-night  to 
mother  or  anything.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  stay  down 
long." 

"All  right,  then.  Go  on  and  say  good-night,  and  then 
we  '11  go  to  bed,  shall  we?  We  can  talk  real  comfy  in 
bed." 

Gret  took  off  the  long- forgotten  hat  and  threw  it  on 
the  bed;  then  she  went  out  of  the  room.  As  she  walked 
down  the  staircase  she  was  in  a  brown  study.  Something 
was  evidently  on  Eva's  mind  and  something  quite  con- 
siderable, too.  Then  impatiently  she  shook  off  her  dis- 
quieting thought.  If  she  was  going  to  know  she  was  go- 
ing to  know,  and  puzzling  beforehand  was  waste  of  trou- 
ble. Gret  was  a  born  conserver  of  forces;  she  never 
climbed  stiles  until  she  came  to  them. 

Her  face  was  quite  composed  again  as  she  entered  the 
room  where  her  mother  still  sat.  "I  think  I  shall  go  to 
bed,  mother,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Yes ;  I  expect  you  are  tired,"  agreed  Mrs.  Silway.  "I 
am  going  to  lie  down  myself  for  a  while." 

"Lie  down  !"  repeated  Gret.    "Sha'n't  you  go  to  bed  ?" 

"No;  I  might  be  called." 

"Oh!  Might  father  be  taken  suddenly  worse,  then?" 
inquired  Gret. 

"If  he  does  n't  take  a  turn  for  the  better  very  soon,  he 
will  certainly  get  worse." 

"Where  's  the  doctor?"  inquired  Gret,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting. 

"The  operating  doctor— the  surgeon — went  back  to 
Portland  this  afternoon,"  explained  Mrs.  Silway.  "He 
had  too  many  critical  cases  on  hand  for  it  to  be  possible 

20 


3o6  GRET 

to  stay  here.  Dr.  Gray  can  do  all  that  it  is  possible,  or 
that  there  is  left,  to  do  now,  I  imagine— and  the  nurse." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  nodded  Gret.  'Well,  mother,  go  and  try 
to  have  a  good  rest  now.     You  look  so  tired.' 

"I  am  going  to  try,"  replied  her  mother,  pleased  some- 
what at  the  unwonted  exhibition  of  solicitude.  Old  as 
Gret  was,  her  mother  had  not  yet  recognized  one  of  her 
main  characteristics:  she  could  not  bear  to  see  pain  or 
suffering ;  it  was  the  weak  spot  in  her  armor. 

Then  Gret  went  back  up-stairs  to  Eva,  who  was  busy 
setting  out  such  things  as  her  sister  would  need  for  the 
night. 

"The  nurse  has  got  your  room,"  she  explained ;  "but  I 
took  all  your  things  out  before  she  went  in — most  of 
them,  anyway." 

The  two  girls  climbed  into  bed ;  and  then  after  a  while 
Eva  became  more  of  her  old,  dreamy  self.  She  tried  to 
penetrate  into  the  heart  of  the  older  girl,  that  she  might 
taste  some  of  the  delight  it  must  surely  contain. 

"Gret,  are  you  very  happy  ?"  she  queried,  nestling  up  to 
the  slim  figure  that  lay  in  utter  repose  beside  her. 

"Yes,"  responded  Gret  quietly. 

"Did  you— I  never  guessed  you— you  liked  him,"  went 
on  Eva.    "Did  you  like  him  all  the  time  really?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gret  again. 

"From  the  very  first  time?"  insisted  Eva. 

Gret  thought,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  in  the  darkness, 
of  that  first  time  in  the  early  summer  morning  in  the 
woods  by  the  river,  when  a  man  with  cold,  quiet  eyes  had 
looked  her  over  and  passed  on,  "Yes,"  she  responded 
softly. 

"You  know  I  never  can  imagine  you  loving— really 
loving,"  observed  Eva  with  sweet  candor.  "Do  you  think 
you  do  really  love?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  replied  Gret,  amused. 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  307 

"Do  you  sit  down  and  think  that  after  a  little  while  you 
will  be  with  him  all  the  time— all  the  time  ?'' 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that,"  guardedly. 

"Oh,  Gret,  if  you  really  love  you  're  happy !"  went  on 
Eva  earnestly.  "In  all  your  life  you  '11  never  be  so  happy 
as  you  are  just  now.  Think  of  it,  and  think  of  it,  and 
think  of  it,  so  that  you  '11  have  it  in  your  memory  for  al- 
ways. When  you  go  to  sleep  at  night  think  of  it,  soft  and 
warm  next  your  heart,  and  sleep  will  be  a  great  dusk-val- 
ley full  of  sweet  whispers ;  when  you  wake  in  the  morning, 
think  of  it,  and  consciousness  will  come  like  a  flood  of 
gold,  like  the  dawn's  light  over  the  waiting  mountains. 
Oh,  Gret,  don't  let  any  of  the  delight  slip  by,  for  it  will 
never  come  again— never  just  the  same  again."  Her 
voice,  which  had  been  beautiful  with  lingering  cadences, 
died  softly  into  a  whisper.  The  invocation  of  one  heart 
to  another  was  ended. 

Gret  lay  still ;  but  her  heart  approved  in  silence  the  pas- 
sion-laden words  of  the  younger  girl.  And  Eva  herself 
lapsed  into  silence,  staring  into  the  darkness  with  the  wide, 
soft  eyes  of  youth  and  mystery.  Carried  away  by  her 
own  earnestness,  she  forgot  Gret  and  her  still  unfathomed 
love-story,  and  following  after  the  wild,  sweet  fancies  of 
her  own  heart,  she  presently  wandered  asleep. 

But  Gret  lay  awake— a  thing  unusual  with  her.  The 
movement  of  travel  was  still  before  her  eyes,  and  her 
brain  thronged  with  thoughts.  She  thought  of  her  fa- 
ther's illness  and  its  probable  outcome,  of  the  life  she  had 
just  left  and  the  life  in  store  for  her.  She  thought  of 
Eva  and  her  love  dreams.  She  wondered  if  love  could 
ever  be  the  same  thing  to  them  both— they  who  were  so 
different;  or  if  Eva  would  ever  find  any  one  to  love  as 
she  loved  Errol.    No ;  there  was  never  another  like  Errol. 

Sometimes  the  thought  would  creep  in,  just  for  a  mo- 
ment, that  there  would  always  be  the  faint  possibility  of 


3o8  GRET 

Errol's  discovering  that  fool  child's  prank  of  long  ago. 
It  was  a  prank,  pure  and  simple;  and  yet,  if  she  had  let 
it,  it  would  have  been  sufficient  to  spoil  her  life.  But  she 
would  always  put  the  thought  away.  It  was  no  use 
dwelling  on  it.  If  the  risk  had  been  twenty  times  bigger 
than  it  was,  she  would  have  taken  it.  Even  if  she  were 
found  out  and  repudiated  and  her  heart  broken,  she 
would  still  have  known  what  it  was  to  be  Errol  Ludlowe's 
wife.     Better  that  than  never  to  have  known. 

And  so  she  thought,  lying  staring  into  the  darkness. 
Through  the  open  window  came  the  sleepy,  incessant 
murmur  of  the  river,  and  the  sound  of  a  fitful  wind  that, 
passing  through  the  pines  like  the  rush  of  myriad  wings, 
died  away  in  soft  flutterings,  leaving  more  silent  than  be- 
fore the  silence  of  the  night  in  the  great  forests. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  perhaps  about  five  o'clock, 
while  the  darkness  was  as  yet  unpierced  by  a  single  ray  of 
dawn,  Gret  rose  stealthily  up  from  a  sleepless  couch.  She 
lighted  the  lamp  and  turned  it  down  to  a  mere  flicker, 
glancing  cautiously  at  the  peacefully  sleeping  Eva.  Eva 
was  always  the  heavy  sleeper,  and  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  dress  without  waking  her. 

Gret  noticed  her  little  old  trunk  standing  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and,  looking  in,  found,  as  she  expected,  most 
of  her  old  clothes.  She  routed  out  the  short  blue  skirt, 
the  loose  tan  coat,  and  the  little  round  cap,  and  when  they 
were  on  smiled  almost  amusedly  and  gave  a  queer  little 
wriggle,  testing  the  utter  freedom  of  her  attire.  Then 
she  turned  out  the  light,  and  went  noiselessly  out  of  the 
window  and  down  the  lean-to  roof.  She  stood  on  the 
bluff  for  a  minute  or  so,  accustoming  her  eyes  to  the 
darkness  and  sniffing  in  the  fresh  dawn  breeze  that  was 
sifting  a  hundred  sweet  odors  through  the  forest.  Then 
she  went  down  to  the  landing,  felt  about  for  the  boat  and 
stepped  quietly  in.     She  floated  her  oar  for  a  moment 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  309 

to  judge  of  the  state  of  the  tide,  whether  it  would  bear 
her  down  to  or  away  from  the  camp-landing.  It  was 
about  at  a  standstill,  and  so  she  rowed  softly  down- 
stream. She  made  the  landing  with  the  ease  of  long  fa- 
miliarity, tied  up  the  boat,  and  felt  her  way  up  the  steps 
that  the  high-tide  made  almost  horizontal.  She  felt  her 
way  with  care  along  the  board-walk,  too ;  for,  on  the  one 
side,  a  drop  off  onto  the  marsh  at  this  season  of  the  year 
would  be  a  damp  and  unpleasant  affair,  and  on  the  other 
side  a  drop  into  the  slough  had  to  be  considered. 

At  the  end  of  the  walk  she  groped  about  for  the  don- 
key that  stood  at  the  head  of  the  slough,  and  found  it,  re- 
flecting that  it  must  be  very  early,  for  Chester  was  not 
yet  down  to  get  up  steam.  From  the  donkey  she  made 
her  way  up  by  the  side  of  the  skid-road.  It  was  muddy, 
and  Gret  regretted  the  darkness  that  made  the  skid  im- 
possible. Soon,  out  of  the  darkness  shone  two  twink- 
ling lights,  and  Gret  smiled  with  satisfaction.  One 
would  be  Joe,  the  Dago  flunky,  lighting  the  big  stove, 
arranging  the  tables  and  sweeping  out,  and  the  other 
would  proclaim  the  presence  of  Jake  and  Charlie  in  the 
kitchen. 

As  she  came  close  to  the  buildings  she  found  her  con- 
jectures mainly  right.  Joe  was  noisily  depositing  an  arm- 
ful of  wood  behind  the  big  heater,  and  Jake  was  bustling 
about  the  kitchen.  In  the  corner  Charlie  was  beating  hot 
cake  batter.  The  bunk-house  was  as  yet  silent  and  invisi- 
ble in  the  darkness.  Gret  silently  entered  the  kitchen. 
Jake,  who  was  evidently  preparing  the  comfortable  break- 
fast of  which  he  and  his  assistants  always  partook  before 
settling  down  to  work,  was  just  cracking  with  extreme 
gentleness  an  egg  on  the  edge  of  a  saucer.  Hearing  a 
sound  behind  him  he  turned  his  head,  the  egg  still  in  his 
fingers,  and  catching  sight  of  Gret— her  naturally  pale 
face  showing  white  against  the  darkness  behind  her— he 


3IO  GRET 

gave  a  yell  that  might  easily  have  wakened  the  Seven 
Sleepers,  and  the  egg  flew  half-way  across  the  kitchen. 

Gret  looked  from  the  egg,  spattering  the  floor,  to  the 
still  staring  Jake.  "Well,  what  did  you  do  that  for?"  she 
inquired  gravely. 

''Gracious  Peter!"  ejaculated  Jake,  indignant.  "Why 
do  you  come  scaring  a  fellow  like  that  ?" 

"How  did  I  know  that  I  should  scare  you  ?"  demanded 
Gret.  "Supposed  you  'd  seen  me  times  enough."  And 
then,  looking  at  the  still  startled  and  indignant  cook, 
Gret's  assumed  gravity  forsook  her,  and  she  laughed  in 
gleeful  satisfaction  at  the  success  of  her  dramatic  en- 
trance. Then  taking  up  the  shovel  and  a  brush  she  re- 
moved the  egg— all  but  a  yellow  stain— and  threw  it 
into  the  stove.  In  so  doing  she  noticed  the  appetizing 
slices  of  ham  frizzling  on  the  top. 

"Put  in  another  big  slice  for  me,  Jakey,"  she  said  ami- 
ably ;  "and  I  want  two  eggs,    I  'm  awfully  hungry." 

"When  did  you  come  ?"  inquired  Jake. 

"Last  night." 

Jake  turned  to  the  ham  still  on  the  table  and  sliced  off 
a  generous  slice.  Then  he  critically  investigated  the  cof- 
fee-pot. That  done,  he  turned  his  attention  to  a  bowl 
of  eggs  standing  near  and  selected  therefrom  half  a  dozen 
of  the  finest.  Charlie  came  and  placed  upon  the  table  a 
bunch  of  knives  and  forks  and  some  cups  and  saucers. 
Meanwhile  Gret  sat  on  the  corner  of  the  table  after  the 
fashion  of  time  immemorial,  and  watched  proceedings. 

"They  sent  for  you  in  a  hurry,  did  n't  they?"  inquired 
Jake. 

"Nope." 

"They  did  n't!    How  's  the  boss  this  morning?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Gret  truthfully. 

"How  was  he  last  night,  then?"  amended  Jake,  recol- 
lecting that  the  present  day  was  as  yet  in  embryo. 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  311 

"I  don't  know  that  either/'  said  Gret.  '*I  did  n't  see 
him." 

"Well,  I  '11  be  switched,"  observed  Jake  with  a  grin. 

Gret  was  about  to  explain  further,  when  Joe  entered 
the  kitchen.  Catching  sight  of  Gret,  he  jumped  about 
two  feet  sideways,  and  then  grinned  amiably.  Jake  ob- 
served the  movement  with  a  side-glance. 

"Never  saw  such  a  fellow,"  he  commented  with  gusto ; 
"I  believe  he  'd  jump  at  the  sight  of  his  own  mother." 

"Very  likely,"  agreed  Gret  promptly ;  "she  's  been  dead 
about  ten  years." 

Jake  dished  up  the  ham  and  eggs,  poured  coffee,  and 
the  three  sat  down  to  the  white-scrubbed  deal  table. 
Jake  and  Gret  and  Charlie  sat  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
and  Joe  and  the  boy  at  the  other. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know?"  inquired  Jake  between 
mouth  fuls. 

"Very  little,"  replied  Gret  with  becoming  modesty. 

"Keep  your  eyes  open  and  you  '11  catch  on  to  some- 
thing pretty  soon,"  said  Jake  with  a  prophetic  air. 

Gret  looked  sharply  at  him.  "Well,  is  it  something  I 
shall  like  to  catch  on  to  ?  Because,  if  it  is  n't,  it  had  better 
be!" 

"Why  ?"  demanded  Jake  in  surprise,  and  somewhat  in- 
articulate on  account  of  the  ham  and  eggs. 

"Why,  because,  if  it  's  something  I  did  n't  like,  I  'd 
want  to  know  in  time,  so  I  could  stop  it,"  explained  Gret. 

"Think  you  can  stop  anything,  don't  you?"  chuckled 
Jake.  "Wonder  you  don't  want  to  stop  the  sun  some- 
times." 

"Well,  if  it  has  anything  to  do  with  me,"  said  Gret. 
"If  not,  it  does  n't  matter  whether  I  notice  it  or  not." 

Jake  reflected  a  little  as  he  proceeded  with  his  break- 
fast. "Oh,  I  don't  think  you  'd  object  any,"  he  observed 
judicially. 


312  GRET 

"Well,  perhaps  it  's  none  of  my  business,"  hazarded 
Gret. 

"Not  such  a  great  lot,  I  suppose,"  replied  Jake. 

"Then  I  sha'n't  object,"  said  Gret,  calmly  concluding 
the  subject. 

Jake,  however,  continued  to  gaze  reflectively  at  her  the 
while  he  sipped  his  final  cup  of  coffee.  Apparently  he 
was  not  quite  so  confident  of  her  indifference  on  the  mat- 
ter. But  then,  his  eyes  happening  to  catch  the  clock,  which 
indicated  that  it  only  wanted  five  minutes  to  six,  he  sprang 
up,  followed  by  the  others;  and  in  the  bustle  of  mush- 
making,  and  the  preparations  for  breakfast  in  general, 
the  subject  was  forgotten. 

After  Joe  had  clanged  the  "quarter-to"  bell,  and  lighted 
the  lamps  in  the  dining-hall,  Gret  took  up  her  seat  well 
behind  the  cook-house  door.  She  did  not  want  the  men 
to  see  her  yet,  and  sat  quietly  while  they  turned  out  with 
much  shouting  and  much  commotion.  And  not  until  they 
were  all  seated  at  breakfast,  and  Joe  had  taken  the  mush- 
kettle  round,  did  she  choose  to  reveal  herself.  Then  she 
went  and  stood  quietly  in  the  doorway.  Oly  was  the  first 
to  catch  sight  of  her,  and  he  gave  a  little  gasp,  letting  his 
spoon  drop  back  into  his  mush-bowl ;  and  Dick  Swinton, 
following  Oly's  gaze,  turned  from  his  position  at  the  head 
of  the  table  and  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  surprise.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  a  chorus  of  shouts. 

"Why,  it 's  Gret !    Hallo,  Gret !    When  did  you  come  ?" 

"Well,  I  '11  be  sque-jeed  if  I  did  n't  think  you  was  a 
ghost  for  a  minute!"  said  Oly,  beaming  on  Gret  with 
much  affection.  "I  'm  real  glad  to  see  you  back  any- 
how." 

"Dick  was  scared,  too,  were  n't  you,  Dick?"  said  Gret 
triumphantly,  slipping  into  a  seat  by  Cassidy's  side. 
"Moved  up  a  little,  have  n't  you?"  with  a  smile  up  into 
that  good-humored  gentleman's  countenance. 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  313 

The  faintly  perturbed  look  had  hardly  faded  out  of 
Dick's  eyes.  "Well,  I  'm  like  Oly,"  he  confessed.  "Just 
for  a  minute,  before  I  had  time  to  think,  I  really  did  take 
you  for  a  ghost.  You  looked  so  queer  with  the  light  on 
your  face  and  the  dark  behind  you." 

"What  time  did  you  get  into  camp  last  night?"  in- 
quired Oly. 

"About  five  o'clock— something  like  that." 

"Did  you  come  in  on  the  Tatoosh  last  night?"  inquired 
Chester,  who  now,  by  the  way,  occupied  the  exalted  posi- 
tion of  engineer  on  the  slough  donkey.    Gret  nodded. 

"Humph !    Bet  it  was  you  took  my  boat." 

"Oh,  well,  there  were  several  boats  from  the  camp 
down  there,"  said  Gret  pacifically.  "You  could  easily 
squeeze  into  one  of  the  other  boats." 

"They  were  all  gone  before  I  got  there,"  said  Chester. 

Gret  looked  severe.  "Should  n't  be  the  last  of  the  gang 
in  town  always." 

Chester  looked  unimpressed.  "Had  to  go  all-  the  way 
to  Shearer's  and  hire  a  boat." 

"Well,  you  'd  ought  to  have  come  along  with  me  when 
I  wanted  you  to,"  observed  Oly,  "  'stead  of  thinking  you 
could  bust  that  slot-machine.  He  had  about  two  dollars' 
worth  of  nickels,"  went  on  Oly,  for  the  benefit  of  the  as- 
semblage, "and  he  swore  he  'd  beat  the  stuffing  out  of  Do- 
lan's  slot-machine.  What  time  was  it,"  addressing  the 
somewhat  sulky  Chester,  "before  you  got  the  last  of  the 
nickels  in?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  promptly. 

"No,  you  bet  it  ain't,"  chuckled  Oly  tantalizingly.  "The 
business  is  all  Dolan's." 

Gret  smiled,  her  head  on  her  hand  as  she  sat  looking 
down  the  long  tables.  In  comparison  with  those  men  of 
another  class  so  lately  left,  these  men  pleased  her  afresh. 
It  was  just  dawn,  but  here  was  none  of  the  unhealthy 


314  GRET 

ennui,  the  boredom,  the  listless  lack  of  aim,  that  charac- 
terized the  early  waking  hours  of  society  men,  but  a  good- 
humored  zest  in  life,  a  healthy  power  behind  all  they  did, 
even  behind  the  opinions  they  held.  And  Gret  scanned 
contemplatively  the  bronzed  faces,  the  keen  eyes  whose 
glances  shot  straight  out  from  between  level  lids,  the 
broad  chests  and  swinging,  easily  poised  bodies,  with  a 
smile  of  renewed  affection.  Daredevils;  improvident; 
quick  to  anger,  and  mostly  quick  to  forgive ;  generous  and 
good-hearted  generally;  afraid  of  nothing,  least  of  all  of 
work  and  danger;  hard  to  lead,  often,  and  impossible  to 
drive,  always — but  always  and  at  all  times  men. 

Gret  went  up  to  the  grounds  after  breakfast  with  the 
men,  and  after  an  hour  or  so  came  down  on  a  haul  of 
logs.  Preserving  her  swaying  foothold  on  the  rough, 
quivering  side  of  a  log  once  more,  Gret  decided  once  for 
all  that  automobiling  was  flat,  tame  and  unprofitable. 
She  watched  the  long  timbers  splash  one  by  one  into  the 
slough  with  all  her  old  delight. 

"Fine,  are  n't  they  ?  "  to  Chester,  as  the  donkey  stopped 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  operation,  and  as  the  watermen 
jumped,  peavies  in  hand,  on  the  logs  and  began  to  roll 
them  away  from  the  head  of  the  slough. 

*'You  bet!"  agreed  Chester,  with  critical  appreciation. 
"These  is  all  piling  for  the  Granite  Harbor — eighty-five 
foot,  every  one  of  'em.  Just  as  straight  as  a  die,  are  n't 
they?  Like  to  have  all  those  fellows  is  worth  in  my 
pocket." 

"About  ten  dollars  apiece,  I  expect,  eh  ?"  surmised  Gret, 
sizing  up  the  length  of  the  log  with  a  businesslike  nar-  ^ 
rowing  of  the  eye.    "You  see,  they  're  not  so  very  thick ; 
only  long." 

"That  's  right.  Not  so  many  feet  in  them,"  nodded 
Chester,  "but  they  're  worth  more  a  foot  because  they 
have  to  be  all  picked  just  so.    There  's  six  hundred  and 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  315 

fifty  of  them  going  down.  There  was  n't  another  camp 
in  the  county  could  supply  that  many  of  just  this  size,  I 
heard,"  concluded  Chester,  with  becoming  pride. 

"They  got  some  out  of  the  boom,  I  suppose?"  said 
Gret. 

Chester  nodded.  "Oh,  yes;  there  's  quite  a  few  gone 
down  already.  They  did  n't  have  to  be  delivered  all  at 
once." 

Gret  nodded.  Then  she  sat  down  quietly  by  the  don- 
key for  a  minute  or  two  before  starting  on  her  way  home. 
There  were  many  things  she  would  have  liked  to  do ;  but, 
little  attention  as  she  generally  paid  to  outward  appear- 
ances, she  felt  that,  seeing  her  late  arrival  the  night  be- 
fore and  the  few  words  accorded  to  any  one  save  Eva,  it 
would  seem  more  than  usually  discourteous  to  absent  her- 
self during  the  first  morning  at  home. 

So  by  and  by  she  went  down  to  the  landing  and  untied 
her  boat.  She  stepped  in  and  pushed  off,  and  then 
paused.  The  tide  was  running  in  swiftly  and  would 
carry  her  up  in  any  case,  and  moreover  she  thought  she 
caught  the  sound  of  a  boat  coming  round  the  curve.  She 
listened,  and  then  was  quite  sure  that  the  boat  was  com- 
ing toward  her.  She  would  stay  and  see  who  it  was— in 
all  probability,  Robin.  She  waited  until  the  boat  came  in 
sight  and  she  saw  she  was  right ;  then  she  turned  sharply 
upward  her  own  boat,  which  was  drifting  out  into  mid- 
stream. 

She  was  borne  silently  and  swiftly  up  to  meet  the  on- 
coming boat,  and  Robin,  looking  up,  suddenly  caught 
sight  of  her.  To  Gret's  surprise  and  amusement,  even  at 
that  little  distance  she  saw  that  he  colored  a  fiery  red.  He 
drew  in  his  oars,  and  the  impetus  of  the  boat  died  away, 
as  Gret's  swung  close. 

"Hallo,  Gret !"  He  still  looked  uncomfortable.  "You 
startled  me." 


3i6  ,       GRET 

"I  should  think  so,"  drily,  her  old  love  of  teasing  her 
one-time  companion  returning  to  her.  "Getting  quite  a 
bashful  young  man,  are  n't  you  ?" 

''Oh,  no,"  with  a  short  laugh.  "When  did  you  come, 
Gret?" 

"Last  night." 

"Where  have  you  been  now— to  the  camp  ?" 

"Yes." 

Robin  looked  the  girl  over  swiftly  and  keenly.  Then 
he  looked  past  her  and  down  the  stream.  "How  long  are 
you  going  to  stay,  Gret?" 

"How  can  I  tell?" 

"Well,  I  mean — you  're  not  going  away  again  until  you 
get  married,  are  you  ?" 

"No." 

"How  long  will  that  be?" 

Gret  broke  into  a  rippling  laugh.  "My,  what  a  hurry 
you  all  seem  to  be  in  to  get  me  away  again." 

Robin  looked  startled.    "Why?"  he  demanded  quickly. 

"Eva  asked  me  the  very  same  thing." 

"Oh!"  He  looked  searchingly  at  her.  "Oh,  well,  I 
suppose  we  're  all  just  curious." 

"Suppose  so." 

"How  is  your  father  this  morning  ?"  asked  Robin  then. 

"I  don't  know.  Have  n't  seen  any  one  this  morning  yet. 
He  was  about  the  same  last  night,"  said  Gret.  "Come  on 
down  and  see." 

"Oh,  I  guess  I  won't  now  I  've  seen  you,"  said  Robin 
hesitatingly.  "I  don't  suppose  there  's  any  change  yet. 
I  '11  come  down  to-morrow  if  I  don't  see  you  or — or  Eva." 

"All  right,"  acquiesced  Gret,  unconcerned.  "I  must  go ; 
I  expect  it 's  getting  late." 

"Just  about  half -past  nine,"  said  Robin,  swinging  his 
boat  round  up-stream  again. 

The  nurse  was  just  finishing  her  breakfast  as  Gret  en- 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  317 

tered  the  little  dining-room.  She  was  rather  handsome, 
and  had  all  the  starched  immaculateness  of  a  graduate 
nurse,  but  Gret  found  nothing  displeasing  about  her. 
When  she  had  left  the  room  Mrs.  Silway  turned  to  Gret. 

"You  have  been  out,  have  n't  you,  Gret  ?" 

"Yes,  mother ;  to  the  camp." 

"Eva  and  I  have  been  allowed  to  see  your  father,  and 
you  could  have  done  so,  too,  if  you  had  been  here.  He 
did  n't  seem  to  know  us,  and  so  I  suppose—" 

"Did  n't  he  ?"  said  Gret  in  surprise. 

"No.  I  thought  you  did  n't  realize  how  grave  his  ill- 
ness really  is,"  went  on  Mrs.  Silway,  with  grave  candor. 
"He  took  a  turn  for  the  worse  in  the  night,  or  rather, 
as  he  does  n't  rally,  time  makes  matters  worse.  Dr.  Gray 
won't  leave  him  for  a  moment.  Doctors  and  nurses  are 
very  ambiguous  things,  but  I  can  see  they  are  very  anx- 
ious." 

Gret  nodded,  looking  at  her  mother  intently.  And  Mrs. 
Silway  returned  the  look,  in  her  eyes  a  certain  faint  curi- 
osity and  almost  amusement.  She  had  always  admitted 
to  herself  that  Gret  was  a  stubborn  little  conundrum. 
Here  she  was  back  with  apparent  content  in  her  old  ways 
and  her  old  clothes,  with  no  seeming  change  in  the  small, 
unyielding  face  and  the  lithe,  extraordinarily  sinuous 
body.  Mrs.  Silway  had  something  to  say  to  the  girl,  but 
she  knew  her  better  than  to  make  any  unjust  claims  or  to 
appeal  to  any  mock  sentiment. 

"Gret  you  are  quite  old  enough  and  quite  sensible 
enough  to  understand  what  I  am  about  to  say  to  you,"  she 
began  gravely  and  sweetly.  "It  seems  a  terribly  unnatural 
state  of  affairs  that  we  should  be  able  to  preserve  such  un- 
broken calm  in  face  of  the  fact  that  the  life  of  your  fa- 
ther and  my  husband  is  suspended  by  such  a  slender 
thread  that  any  hour  may  snap  it.  But  there  is  very  little 
sham  or  observance  of  convention  in  this  life  that  we 


3i8  GRET 

lead  and  have  been  leading  for  years,  and  we  know  that 
this  seeming  unnatural  state  of  affairs  is  but  the  natural 
outcome  of  these  same  past  years.  I  don't  expect  or 
want  you,  Gret,  to  act  the  hypocrite  and  pretend  an  affec- 
tion that  you  could  not  feel.  But  I  do  want  you,  for  the 
sake  of  the  respect  that  should  attach  to  the  name  of 
father,  to  stay  at  home  and  be  within  call  until  we  know 
definitely  whether  he  is  to  live  or  die." 

"I  will,  mother,"  agreed  Gret  instantly,  admiring  afresh 
her  mother's  easy  and  unfailing  grace  of  diction. 

"Very  well,  then,"  smiled  Mrs.  Silway.  'Tor  better  or 
worse,  we  shall  certainly  know  to-day.  So  you  won't  be 
caged  long,  you  little  wild  animal.  And  now  sit  down  for 
a  few  minutes.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  your  marriage, 
or  rather,  engagement.  I  have  n't  even  had  a  chance  to 
congratulate  you,  let  alone  ask  any  questions !" 

Gret  obeyed,  with  the  faintest  possible  shade  of  uneasi- 
ness. Somehow  she  did  not  care  to  discuss  her  coming 
marriage  any  more  than  could  be  helped  with  any  one.  It 
was  a  subject  too  near  her  heart.  And  so,  though  she  ac- 
cepted her  mother's  congratulations  with  apparent  pleas- 
ure, her  answers  to  most  of  the  questions  put  to  her  were 
smiling  evasions ;  and  Mrs.  Silway  presently  desisted 
from  her  efforts  to  probe  the  depth  and  quality  of  her 
daughter's  happiness.  She  reaHzed  with  a  sort  of  wist- 
fulness  that  it  was  too  late  now  to  expect  the  girls  to  turn 
to  her  as  confidante.  She  had  held  aloof  too  long;  been 
self-sufficient  too  long.  Something— perhaps  her  hus- 
band's loneliness  and  abject  terror  in  the  face  of  death,  or 
the  sight  of  the  absolute  need  of  human  nature,  in  hours 
of  extremity,  of  love  and  sympathy— had  awakened  the 
latent  womanliness  and  tenderness  that  still  slept  in  her 
breast. 

Gret  sat  on  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  then,  seeing  that 
her  mother  did  not  appear  to  have  anything  more  to  say, 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  319 

rose  and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  forage.  Lizzie  was  out- 
side, gathering  in  the  fruits. of  that  morning's  washing, 
and  Gret  began  to  gather  a  meal  together  for  herself. 
She  drew  the  kettle  forward  and  put  the  coffee-pot  on  to 
warm.  Then  she  went  into  the  pantry,  where  Lizzie,  en- 
tering with  a  basket  of  clothes,  discovered  her. 

''What  are  you  doing?"  she  inquired,  though  perfectly 
able  to  guess. 

"Finding  something  to  eat,"  explained  Gret.  "I  ate 
breakfast  so  early  up  in  camp  that  I  'm  hungry  again." 

"I  '11  fix  you  up  something,"  said  Lizzie  amiably. 
She  deposited  her  load  of  clothes  on  the  table  and  looked 
at  Gret  critically. 

"What  did  you  do  with  all  your  nice  clothes?" 

"Left  them  up-stairs." 

"You  '11  have  to  wear  that  kind  all  the  time  when  you 
're  married,"  observed  Lizzie.  "When  are  you  going  to 
be  married?" 

"Don't  know.  Depends,"  said  Gret  shortly.  And  out 
of  deference  to  the  tone  Lizzie  desisted  from  that  topic. 

Consciousness  returned  to  Walter  Silway  that  night 
and  remained  with  him  till  death,  or  until  the  coma  that 
preceded  death.  It  can  hardly  be  said  that  he  returned 
to  a  merciful  consciousness,  for  it  merely  ushered  back 
the  helpless,  unreasoning  terror  that  had  seized  him  when 
first  he  realized  that  death  was  a  near  possibility.  He 
was  too  weak  to  move,  and  sinking  too  fast  to  try  to  talk, 
but  his  brain  was  wonderfully  clear.  He  was  utterly 
lonely,  horribly  afraid,  and  longing  for  sympathy,  yet 
knowing  that  he  could  justly  call  on  none.  It  was  strange 
how  he  longed  for  that  which  all  his  life  he  had  held  in 
cheapest  esteem — affection.  If  loving  and  anxious  ones 
stood  with  him  and  held  his  hands  as  he  entered  that  un- 
known from  which  he  shrank,  it  would  be  less  awful  and 
he  would  have  more  courage.     But  for  once  he  saw 


320  GRET 

straight,  and  knew  that  not  only  had  he  no  right  to  expect 
love,  but  also  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  them  to  show 
any.  It  could  only  be  pretended,  and  they  were  not  that 
kind.  How  eagerly  he  had  watched  his  wife  when  first 
his  real  danger  had  become  apparent,  and  most  apparent 
of  all  to  his  own  inner  consciousness.  Somewhere,  per- 
haps, buried  down  deep,  a  little  of  her  early  tenderness 
for  him  might  yet  remain  and  awake  at  the  thoughts  of 
losing  him.  But  she  was  gentle  and  grave  as  befitted  the 
occasion,  and  not  even  the  most  hopeful  could  trace  any- 
thing more.  And  he  thought  of  another  woman  in  Port- 
land. She  would  lose  no  time  in  installing  another  in 
that  place  which  he  had  occupied,  and  the  thought 
brought  no  regret. 

He  saw  the  selfishness  of  an  ordinary  human  life,  and 
his  own  surpassing  the  ordinary.  That  Pleasure  he  had 
chased  so  long  turned  of  a  sudden  a  hideous  face,  and 
Duty,  discrowned  by  science  and  discounted  of  man,  but 
sweet  and  holy  in  the  memory  of  the  dying,  stood  not  at 
his  bedside.  He  had  lied  to  himself  all  his  life,  and  even 
succeeded  in  pretty  well  believing  his  own  lies ;  but  not 
now.  Now  he  stood  face  to  face  with  that  Nature  of 
which  he  himself  was  a  disobedient  part. 

Several  times,  when  conscious,  he  had  thought  of  Gret, 
that  odd,  uncompromising  outcome  of  this  strange  tangle. 
She  was  hard  to  deal  with,  but  she  had  a  heart.  And  she 
had  been  tasting  pleasure  at  his  expense  lately.  Perhaps 
she  would  care,  just  a  little.  If  he  could  only  see  just  one 
look  of  anxiety,  one  glance  of  affection! 

When  the  Quellish  doctor  hurried  back  from  a  visit  to 
another  patient,  and  after  he  had  administered  oxygen 
and  done  all  possible  for  the  failing  patient,  he  looked 
down  into  the  fading  eyes,  so  full  of  dumb  appeal  and 
misery,  and  then  spoke  aside  to  the  nurse. 

"I   don't  think  anything  will   make   much   difference 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  321 

now.  We  might  as  well  let  the  family  remain  with  him 
to  the  end.    I  doubt  whether  he  will  be  conscious  again." 

The  nurse  went  down  to  the  little  sitting-room  where 
the  three  sat  in  decorous  silence.  "Mr.  Silway  is  con- 
scious," she  said  gently.  ''But  we  're  afraid  it  will  be  for 
the  last  time.  If  you  would  like  to  come  and  sit  with 
him-" 

The  three  rose  immediately  and  filed  out  with  soft 
step,  up  into  the  plain  bedroom  overlooking  the  Wishkah. 
The  dying  man  saw  them  enter,  and  his  eyes  searched 
their  faces  eagerly.  Mrs.  Silway  approached  the  bed- 
side and  touched  his  hand  gently;  she  seated  herself  be- 
side him,  and  he  looked  at  her  searchingly  again.  Once 
she  had  told  him :  "There  is  punishment  coming  to  both 
of  us  for  duty  undone.  But  I  am  content  to  take  my 
share,  knowing  that  you  will  get  yours."  Well,  he  was 
getting  it ;  but  she  was  not  exulting.  In  her  eyes  pity  was 
plainly  to  be  seen— no  anxiety,  no  love,  but  pity.  He 
looked  at  Gret,  and  she,  too,  came  and  stood  by  the  bed- 
side. She  remembered  all  the  lights  and  beauty  and  lux- 
ury of  the  big  hotel  where  she  had  last  seen  him,  and  now, 
in  this  little,  dim  room,  she  looked  down  on  him,  in  curi- 
osity at  first ;  but,  as  her  father  had  remembered,  she  had 
a  heart  always  quick  to  pity,  and,  seeing  that  hunted  look 
in  his  eyes,  she  grew  suddenly  sorry  for  him.  It  must  be 
hard  to  die  when  one  has  lived  so  pleasant  a  life. 

Eva  sat  a  little  aside.  She  was  silent  and  awed,  and  a 
look  of  pronounced  dejection  marred  the  usually  dreamy 
sweetness  of  her  pale,  flower-like  face. 

Presently  the  sick  man  made  an  effort  and  said  some- 
thing in  a  whispering,  broken  voice.  The  nurse,  accus- 
tomed to  catching  broken  utterances,  hurried  and  bent 
over  him. 

"He  wants  to  see  Dick  some  one,"  she  said,  looking 
round  inquiringly. 

21 


322  GRET 

"Dick  Swinton,  the  foreman!"  said  Gret  quickly. 
"Yes !    I  '11  go  and  get  him,"  with  a  reassuring  nod. 

"It  's  so  dark;  take  a  lantern,  Gret,"  murmured  her 
mother. 

Gret  nodded  and  darted  from  the  room.  She  lighted 
a  lantern  in  the  kitchen,  taking  it  more  for  the  extra 
speed  it  would  insure  than  as  a  safeguard.  With  it  she 
hastened  across  the  river,  and  raced  up  the  long  board- 
walk. Wild  things  scurried  and  rustled  away  in  the 
undergrowth  of  the  marsh,  and  the  slough  gave  out  long 
gleams  where  the  rays  of  the  lantern  caught  it.  Gret 
was  not  too  busy  to  notice  these  things,  though  she  hur- 
ried along  as  fast  as  fleet  feet  could  carry  her. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  men's  hall,  that  being 
the  first  door  she  reached,  and  as  the  men  caught  sight 
of  her  a  sudden  silence  prevailed.  Card  games  and 
checkers  halted  for  a  moment,  and  Oly's  concertina 
paused  with  a  long  wail. 

"Where  's  Dick  ?"  she  demanded. 

"In  his  cabin,"  chorused  a  dozen  voices.  "What  do 
you  want  him  for,  Gret?" 

But  Gret  had  gone  on.  A  light  twinkled  from  the  win- 
dow of  the  foreman's  cabin,  and  Gret  opened  the  door 
and  stood  inside.  Dick  was  taking  a  correspondence 
course  in  forestry,  and  was  busily  writing  as  Gret  en- 
tered. She  looked  sharply  and  curiously  over  the  paper- 
bestrewn  table,  and  then  into  Dick's  inquiring  eyes. 

"Father  wants  you,  Dick;  he  's  dying." 

Dick  sprang  up,  seized  his  cap,  and  followed  Gret  out 
without  a  word.  Outside  the  door  he  took  the  lantern 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  girl,  who  promptly  placed 
hers  within  it. 

Dick  loosed  Gret's  fingers  and  wound  his  arm  through 
hers.  In  that  way  they  traveled  quickly  down  to  the  boat. 
In  the  boat  Gret  stood  up  and  held  the  lantern  aloft,  while 


THE  FIRST  SHADOW  323 

Dick  sent  the  craft  across  the  stream  in  great  sweeps.    In 
the  house  she  led  him  up  to  the  sick-room. 

He  entered,  treading  gently,  hat  in  hand,  and  his  big, 
magnificent  manhood  filled  the  room.  Gret  took  his  hand 
in  her  quaint,  self-unconscious  way  and  led  him  to  her 
father.  Walter  Silway  looked  slowly  up  at  him,  the  man 
of  much  work  and  few  words,  who  in  his  dogged,  quiet 
way  followed  right  as  he  saw  it  and  claimed  as  much  for 
his  fellow  man  as  for  himself.  Who  can  guess  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  dying  man  in  those  few  seconds,  or  gage 
in  those  few  seconds'  keen  self -depreciation  the  lesson 
given  for  use  along  the  devious  paths  that  shrunken  soul 
had  yet  to  tread. 

Then  "the  timber  boss"  began  to  speak,  and  Gret 
touched  the  arm  of  the  waiting  foreman.  "You  '11  have 
to  bend  down,  Dick." 

Dick  bent  obediently  over  and  listened  to  the  slowly 
uttered  but  fairly  distinct  words. 

"Dick,  you  '11  run  the  camp  for  Mrs.  Silway?" 
"Yes,  sir ;  just  the  same  as  I  ran  it  for  you." 
"There  's  not  much  else,  and  you  must  manage  it  well 
for  them." 

"I  will,  sir— as  long  as  ever  Mrs.  Silway  wants  me." 
"You  '11  have  to  move  camp  soon  ?" 
"About  a  year ;  soon  as  that  S.  E.  section  is  cut." 
Silway  seemed  to  nod  his  head  slightly.    There  seemed 
to  be  nothing  else  to  say,  and  he  closed  his  eyes,  weary 
with  even  that  little  exertion. 

Dick  stood  waiting  for  a  moment  or  so,  then  as  the  boss 
opened  his  eyes  again,  he  placed  a  great,  strong  hand  over 
his.    "Good-by,  sir." 

His  voice  was  faintly  husky.  There  was  much  about 
the  boss  that  Dick  had  never  admired,  but  he  was  touched 
by  the  sight  of  so  much  weakness.  And  Silway,  hunger- 
ing for  sympathy,  saw  the  emotion  and  strove  to  speak 


324  GRET 

again.  His  lips  moved,  and  then  he  closed  his  eyes  again. 
Dick  quietly  left  the  room. 

Gret,  who  had  been  standing  most  keenly  watching 
both  her  father  and  Dick,  stood  a  moment  by  the  bedside 
deep  in  thought.  Probably  in  after  life  she  never  forgot 
the  contrast  between  those  two.  Then  she  moved  quietly 
away  and  seated  herself  by  her  mother. 

Before  dawn,  with  rain  falling  softly  and  the  dawn- 
wind  stirring  through  the  forest  in  long  whispers,  like 
waves  breaking  on  far-off  shores,  Walter  Silway  ceased 
to  breathe. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

GRET   HEARS    NEWS 

CHRISTMAS  came  and  went  unnoticed.  On  account 
of  the  boss's  recent  death  no  celebrations  of  any 
kind  were  held  at  the  camp,  except  such  individual  cele- 
brations as  the  different  camp-members  went  down  to  the 
Harbor  to  secure,  and  in  the  little  house  on  the  bluff  the 
time  was  spent  in  decorous  quiet.  Even  the  energetic 
Gret,  observing  her  mother's  wishes,  remained  in  entire 
seclusion  for  the  first  month  following  her  father's  death. 
It  was  rather  hard  work,  for  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  remain  indoors.  The  state  of  the  weather  did 
not  permit  of  even  sitting  about  outside.  Fortunately 
for  her,  however,  Gret  was  probably  more  restfully  in- 
clined now  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life :  for  once 
she  could  sit  down  and  let  the  all-engrossing  To-day  pale 
before  the  beauty  of  that  To-morrow  which  was  drawing 
near.  If  nothing  had  ever  come  of  it— as  in  the  begin- 
ning she  had  never  dreamed  there  could— Gret  would 
have  sternly  repressed  her  love  and  scorned  herself  for 
loving,  would  never  have  allowed  herself  to  dwell  on  it 
for  even  a  moment's  dreaming ;  but  now  that  its  existence 
was  sanctioned  and  justified  it  rose  and  flooded  all  her 
life.  Every  fiber  of  the  girl's  being,  every  characteristic, 
was  subservient  to  it.  With  her  nothing  like  it  had  ever 
been  before;  it  was  too  entire  for  anything  like  it  ever 
to  be  again ;  for  it  was  one  of  the  attributes  of  Errol  Lud- 
lowe's  powerful  individuality  that  the  love  he  inspired 


326  GRET 

was  never  anything  but  complete  and  all-mastering. 
More  than  one  woman  had  loved  him  so. 

During  her  seclusion  Gret  received  several  letters  from 
her  fiance.  He  told  her  of  summoning  home  from  the 
Mediterranean  the  yacht  Immortalite,  and  of  improve- 
ments and  overhauling  to  be  made.  Though  he  said 
nothing,  Gret  gathered  that  he  shared  her  mother's 
ideas  as  to  the  propriety  of  a  period  of  seclusion  for  the 
family. 

Representing  through  her  attorney  that  the  unbroken 
continuance  of  work  in  the  camp  was  necessary  to  the 
welfare  of  the  estate,  Margaret  Silway  obtained  from  the 
court  an  order  to  that  effect,  pending  probate  formalities 
and  while  arranging  to  have  herself  declared  administra- 
trix. 

She  sent  for  Dick  and  had  quite  a  long  talk  with  him. 

"The  work  of  the  camp  will  go  on  as  it  always  has," 
she  told  him.  '*Of  course,  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that  I 
know  nothing  of  the  logging  business;  but — "  and  she 
smiled— "I  don't  know  that  that  will  make  much  differ- 
ence. Mr.  Silway  always  left  everything  to  you,  and  so 
shall  I.  I  want  you  to  take  entire  management  of  every- 
thing.   You  will  do  that,  won't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am."  Dick  sat  facing  her,  cap  in  hand, 
very  respectful,  but  not  at  all  embarrassed.  "Just  as  long 
as  you  want  me." 

"Thank  you.  I  think  I  'm  so  fortunate  in  having  a 
manager  like  you,"  went  on  Mrs.  Silway,  really  thinking 
and  meaning  what  she  said.  "I  know  how  Mr.  Silway 
trusted  you,  and  I  know  he  was  not  mistaken." 

Dick  said,  "Thank  you,"  and  waited  for  whatever  else 
she  might  have  to  say. 

"But  I  imagine  there  will  be  a  great  deal  more  work 
now  for  you  to  do,"  continued  Mrs.  Silway.  "I  suppose 
Mr.  Silway  did  most  of  the  selling  in  Portland.  What  do 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  327 

you  propose  ?  Shall  we  open  a  sort  of  office  affair  down 
at  the  Harbor?" 

"I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary."  Dick  smiled 
gravely.  "I  'd  just  have  a  box  number  down  at  Quellish 
for  the  company  letters  to  come  to.  There  is  n't  much 
selling  to  be  done  as  far  as  the  camp's  concerned.  The 
mills  take  about  all  we  can  log," 

"Did  they  always  do  that?"  Mrs.  Silway  looked  puz- 
zled. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  In  Portland  and  such  places  Mr.  Silway 
was  engaged  mostly  in  timber  deals,  not  so  much  with  the 
actual  logging." 

Mrs.  Silway  still  looked  unenlightened,  and  Dick  went 
on :  "He  'd  buy  up  timber  claims,  and  so  on.  They  'd  lo- 
cate a  good  timber  tract,  and  then  hire  men  to  go  out  and 
file  on  it."  .    ' 

"But— is  that  legal  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Silway. 

"Well,  no— not  exactly.  There  's  lots  of  money  in  it, 
though,  and  almost  all  the  big  lumber  people  manage 
things  that  way." 

"Oh,  well,  we  won't  dabble  in  that  branch  of  the  lum- 
ber business,  Mr.  Swinton,"  said  Mrs.  Silway,  smiling. 
"The  camp  will  keep  us  all  very  comfortably,  I  think. 
There  is  a  lot  of  timber  yet  uncut  belonging  to  us,  I  see." 

"Oh,  yes ;  two  years'  work  yet.  And  by  that  time  we 
shall  have  bought  more."  Dick  rose,  considering  the  in- 
terview at  an  end.  He  stood  facing  his  future  mistress 
for  a  moment.  "I  was  thinking  it  would  be  a  good  thing, 
perhaps,  to  send  out  at  once  a  letter  to  all  our  regular 
customers,  saying  the  camp  was  still  doing  business  in 
the  same  old  way.    They  might  think  that  after — " 

"Yes,  that  is  a  good  idea,  Mr.  Swinton,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Silway  readily.  "I  will  speak  to  the  attorney  at  once 
about  drafting  the  letter  and  having  it  sent  round.  I 
want  all  the  customers  to  know  that  the  camp  still  has  the 


328  GRET 

same  manager,  too.  I  've  no  doubt  they  were  well  satis- 
fied with  the  treatment  they  received  in  the  past.  And 
then,  Mr.  Swinton,"  she  went  on,  half  hesitating,  "I 
don't  know  what  Mr.  Silway  paid  you,  but  it  must  be 
more  now  because  there  will  be  more  work  and  more 
responsibility.  We  will  alter  it  to  whatever  you  think 
fair." 

"He  paid  me  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  month,"  replied 
Dick;  "and  that  's  fair.  There  won't  be  any  more  work 
that  I  can  see.  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  raising  salary 
now,  anyhow,  ma'am.    Thank  you  just  the  same." 

And  so,  with  mutual  confidence,  employer  and  employe 
parted,  Mrs.  Silway  feeling,  as  she  had  said,  fortunate  in 
having  such  a  man  as  Dick  Swinton  to  manage  for  her. 
She  knew  well  enough  that,  were  it  not  for  him,  she 
would  have  to  sell  the  camp  from  sheer  inability  to  run  it. 

February  came  in,  a  beautiful  month.  There  were 
days  of  warm  sunshine  and  soft,  sweet  airs,  and  Gret  be- 
gan slowly  to  emerge  from  total  obscurity.  She  went  up 
to  the  camp,  and  now  and  again  up  or  down  the  river ;  and 
every  day  while  the  nice  weather  lasted  she  and  Eva  sat 
out  on  the  bluff,  just  as  of  old;  and  often  Robin  came 
and  sat  with  them. 

Gret  felt  not  a  little  curious  about  Robin.  She  had 
been  surprised,  to  begin  with,  to  find  him  still  at  the  Or- 
chards. She  questioned  him  freely,  and  according  to  him 
he  had  quite  got  out  of  the  idea  of  going  to  Portland  and 
starting  up  in  business;  he  was  going  to  stay  at  the  Or- 
chards and  farm  it  for  all  it  was  worth.  And  yet  it  did 
not  seem  as  if  he  had  any  more  interest  in  farming  now 
than  ever;  what  work  was  done  at  the  Orchards  Henry, 
the  hired  man,  did.  Gret  could  not  understand  it  at  all, 
and  one  day,  up  at  the  camp,  she  mentioned  the  matter 
to  Jake.  He  might  have  enlightening  ideas  on  the  sub- 
ject. 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  329 

"It  's  so  funny,"  she  observed.  "He  says  he  's  going  to 
stay  on  the  Orchards  and  farm.  But  still  he  is  n't  farm- 
ing. Henry  does  all  that  's  done.  Robin  need  n't  tell  me 
he  's  ever  going  to  like  farming,  because  I  know  better. 
He  has  n't  hated  it  all  these  years  for  nothing." 

Jake  was  busily  untying  the  mouth  of  a  flour-sack,  and 
he  did  not  look  round  as  he  replied  to  Gret's  observations. 

"Oh,  well,  I  expect  he  's  going  to  marry  and  settle 
down." 

Gret  laughed  long  and  scornfully.  "Pooh!  Fancy 
Robin  settling  down  to  anything !" 

"Oh,  but  he  '11  have  to  if  he  gets  married!"  declared 
Jake. 

"He  might  for  a  month  or  so— just  while  it  was  new," 
said  Gret,  not  to  be  convinced.  "And  besides,  who  could 
he  marry?" 

Jake  gave  a  little  chuckle.  "Well,  land's  sake !  Don't 
you  think  there  's  anybody  left  for  him  to  marry?" 

"No ;  not  here." 

"Nobody?"  persisted  Jake. 

"Oh,  well,  not  about  here,"  explained  Gret.  "Of 
course,  there  are  girls— down  at  the  Harbor;  but  I  don't 
think  he  's  after  any  one.  If  so,  he  'd  be  down  there 
every  minute  of  the  time— until  he  got  her.  And  then 
I  'd  be  sorry  for  her." 

Jake  looked  hard  at  Gret  over  his  shoulder  for  a  sec- 
ond. "Oh,  I  don't  know.  That  Orchards  is  a  pretty  nice 
place.  I  '11  tell  you,  many  a  girl  starts  married  life  with 
less." 

"Oh,  yes;  that  's  all  right.  But  how  long  would  he 
have  it  ?"  said  Gret.  "You  know  Robin  as  well  as  I  do ; 
so  why  do  you  talk  rubbish?  You  know  just  as  well  as  I 
do  that  as  soon  as  ever  the  newness  of  marriage  has  worn 
off  he  '11  begin  to  think  how  much  nicer  it  would  be  to 
live  in  a  town  and  have  a  business.  He  thinks  there  's  no 


330  GRET 

work  about  business,  and  then  one  can  go  to  a  theater 
every  night.  So  he  'd  sell  the  ranch.  Then  you  know 
how  long  a  business  will  last  when  you  have  some  one 
else  to  do  the  work  for  you  and  attend  to  it  for  you.  It 
would  be  only  a  matter  of  time  until  he  lost  it.  Then 
it  would  be  a  real  case  of  working,  and  how  do  you  think 
the  wife  would  come  off?"  Out  of  her  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  Robin's  character  Gret  ran  off  her  prophecies 
with  great  ease. 

"It  does  n't  sound  to  me,"  observed  Jake,  reaching  out 
for  a  spoon,  "as  if  you  'd  altogether  want  anybody  be- 
longing to  you  to  marry  Robin." 

"I  would  n't ;  I  would  n't  have  it !" 

Jake  turned  to  the  sack  of  flour  and  dug  a  spoon  in  with 
almost  unnecessary  vigor.  He  was  preparing  the  noon 
meal,  and  carried  a  heaping  spoon  of  flour  to  the  range 
and  deposited  it  in  the  sizzling  pan  waiting  for  it.  That 
done,  he  poured  in  a  lot  of  water,  and  stood  ruminating 
a  while  amid  clouds  of  savory  steam.  Then  he  pushed 
the  pan  to  one  side  of  the  stove,  and  turned  to  Gret  with 
stolid  countenance. 

"Well,  Gret,  we  've  always  been  good  tillicums,  and 
that 's  why  I  'm  in  such  a  corner  now.  But  I  'm  no  spoil- 
sport, and— land!  I  'm  surprised  you  have  n't  taken  a 
tumble  before  this."  He  turned  back  to  the  stove  with 
smothered  grumblings. 

Gret  stared  at  him. 

"Have  n't  you  never  seen  Robin  talking  to  a  girl  ?"  de- 
manded Jake  from  the  stove  then. 

"No,"  said  Gret,  surprised,  but  decided. 

"Think  again  !"  commanded  Jake. 

Gret  stared  harder  at  him,  her  eyes  opening  wide. 
Could  he— "Well,  he  's  talked  to  me,  of  course,"  she  said 
tartly. 

"Oh,  of  course !"    Jake  shrugged  his  shoulders  impa- 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  331 

tiently.  "But  I  mean  some  girl  he  M  be  at  all  likely  to 
get  stuck  on." 

Even  in  the  midst  of  her  wondering  Gret's  lips  curved 
in  slight  amusement,  so  complimentary  was  this  reply  to 
herself;  but  she  thought  earnestly.  "Nope;  never  saw 
him  talk  to  anybody  but  me  and  Eva.  You  can't  mean 
Eva!"  she  added  suddenly. 

But  Jake  gave  an  almost  ferocious  wave  of  both  hands. 
"Now,  I  'm  not  saying  anything  is  or  is  n't.  You  're 
generally  pretty  smart  at  putting  two  and  two  together 
and  making  five.  You  've  just  got  to  do  your  own  guess- 
ing." 

It  did  not  take  Gret  two  seconds  to  recall  the  many 
times  she  had  seen  Eva  and  Robin  in  close  converse  to- 
gether and  thought  nothing  of  it,  and  now  that  she  came 
to  look  for  incidents  pointing  this  way  it  did  not  take  her 
long  to  recall  many  other  things,  too— things  at  the  time 
totally  insignificant.  She  got  suddenly  up  and  walked 
straight  out  of  the  cook-house. 

Jake  watched  her  straight  and  rapid  progress  down  the 
skid-road  with  a  slight  smile.  In  this  case  he  surmised 
that  her  putting  of  two  and  two  together  would  resolve 
itself  into  marching  home  as  straight  as  an  arrow  and  de- 
manding the  truth  from  either  Eva  or  Robin. 

And  he  was  right.  With  hardly  a  glance  to  right  or 
left,  Gret  went  swiftly  home— across  the  river,  into  the 
house,  and  straight  up  into  Eva's  room.  Eva  was  sitting 
writing,  her  pad  on  a  book  that  lay  on  her  crossed  knees, 
and  she  looked  hastily  up  as  Gret  unceremoniously  en- 
tered. 

"Eva,"  began  Gret,  dispensing  with  preliminaries,  as 
she  always  did,  "what  's  this  I  hear  about  you  and 
Robin?" 

A  wave  of  color  rushed  over  Eva's  delicate  face.  She 
threw  down  book  and  pad  and  jumped  up. 


332  GRET 

"Did  some  one  tell  you  ?  I  'm  so  glad !  I  wanted  you 
to  know  all  the  time,  really;  though  I  was  n't  going  to 
tell,  just  because  we  wanted  it  to  be  a  surprise!"  she 
added  quickly,  in  response  to  the  strange  look  that  set- 
tled on  Gret's  face.  ''Don't  look  like  that,  Gret.  Indeed, 
that  was  the  only  reason  I  did  n't  tell  you !"  She  put  her 
hands  on  her  sister's  shoulders  in  her  eagerness  to  be  be- 
lieved. "And  that 's  why  I  did  n't  write.  We  were  going 
to  be  married,  and  then  walk  in  on  you  while  you  were  in 
San  Francisco  and  give  you  a  great  surprise.  But  just 
then  father  became  ill.  .  .  .  Gret,  are  you  so  angry  ?" 
taking  down  her  hands  and  stepping  back. 

"No,"  said  Gret  quietly,  but  with  a  long  sigh.  "Did 
mother  know  of  this  ?" 

"No,  neither  mother  nor  father.  Robin  said  father 
'would  be  sure  to  oppose  it  beforehand,  and  afterward 
opposition  would  be  no  good." 

Gret  nodded.  Then  she  turned  away  and  went  to  the 
window.  She  stood  silently  looking  out,  and  in  a  minute 
or  so  Eva  came  up  behind  her  and  twined  her  arm  about 
her  waist. 

"Oh,  Gret,  I  see  you  're  feeling  hurt.  It 's  just  because 
you  don't  see  things  in  the  way  we  meant  them,"  she  said 
pleadingly.  "I  wanted  to  tell  you  when  you  came  home 
this  time,  but  Robin  said  no,  the  surprise  was  just  as  good 
as  ever.  Just  as  soon  as  you  got  married,  we  were  going 
to  get  married,  too,  and  follow  you  up.  Grettie,  you 
can't  think  it  's  because  I  did  n't  want  you  to  know !  I 
did  think  I  'd  almost  rather  tell  you,  but  Robin  thought 
it  would  be  such  fun !" 

Gret  turned  from  the  window  with  a  hard  little  laugh. 
She  recognized  Robin's  old,  familiar  touch.  Time  did  not 
alter  him  at  all. 

"No,  I  'm  not  angry  with  you,"  she  said  in  her  quiet 
way.    "You  had  the  right  to  do  as  you  liked.    I  'm  not 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  333 

your  master."  Unconsciously  she  emphasized  the  "you." 
"I  Ve  got  something  on  my  mind  just  now,  Eva.  Don't 
let  's  talk  about  it  all  just  now.    We  will  to-night." 

And  without  another  look  at  her  sister  she  went  out  of 
the  room,  and  back  to  the  boat.  Her  first  idea  was  to  go 
straight  up  to  Robin;  but  then  she  changed  her  mind. 
She  recognized  the  need  of  an  hour's  quiet  thought.  Just 
now  she  was  stupid,  chilled  by  something  sinister.  She 
could  not  seem  to  see  with  her  usual  clearness.  She  could 
not  quite  see  yet  where  she  stood,  what  it  all  meant.  So 
she  rowed  up  the  river  a  little  way,  and  then  tied  up  her 
boat  and  went  a  short  distance  into  the  brush.  She  flung 
herself  down,  laying  her  cheek  hard  on  the  moss  as  she 
had  been  used  to  do  at  night-time  when  she  wanted  to 
hear  the  rustling  and  whispers  come  through  the  brush. 

One  thing  had  been  instantly  clear  to  Gret.  Every- 
thing between  Robin  and  Eva  must  be  cut  short  at  once. 
In  common  with  most  natures  of  her  class,  Gret  knew 
little  and  cared  less  for  the  laws  of  men  or  communities ; 
she  would  cheerfully  have  disobeyed  every  one  if  her 
sense  of  expediency  advised  it.  But  here  she  was  con- 
fronted by  the  great  "Thou  shalt  not !"  planted  in  every 
human  nature,  to  disobey  which  is  death  of  the  worst 
form.  She  was  amazed  at  the  strength  of  this  command 
born  of  herself.  This  thing  could  not  be  allowed  to  go 
on.    She  knew  it.    That  was  all. 

But  for  quite  the  first  time  in  her  life  Gret  was  fright- 
ened, sick  at  heart.  She  did  not  care  for  the  risk  of  ex- 
posure, or  the  censure  of  her  fellows;  she  did  not  even 
think  of  it.  But  she  felt  that  the  ax  was  laid  at  the  root 
of  her  happiness.  Manage  things  as  best  she  might,  a 
curtain  was  drawing  slowly  between  her  and  her  happi- 
ness. At  best  it  was  now  afar  off  where  before  it  had 
been  so  near. 

How  Gret  hated  Robin  as  she  lay  on  the  grass  and 


334  GRET 

thought  and  thought!  If  only  he  could  have  got  Eva 
safely  married,  how  helpless  she  would  have  been.  Her 
long  disgust  at  his  fickle  nature,  his  folly  and  innate  de- 
ceit condensed  into  hatred  that  would  hardly  be  contained. 
If  through  him  she  lost  Errol,  then  there  would  be  noth- 
ing left  to  live  for,  and—  Gret's  eyes  glowed  in  the 
shade.  Most  assuredly  Robin  would  pay  for  his  sins  un- 
til the  last  faint  stain  wa£  wiped  out. 

And  yet,  consumed  with  rage  against  him  as  she  was, 
Gret  strove  to  be  fair:  she  had  been  raised  among  men 
who  loved  fair  play.  She  recognized  that  she  did  not 
seem  to  be  willing  to  allow  Robin  the  same  latitude  that 
she  took  herself.  She  realized  that  she  must  argue  with 
him  fairly,  showing  him  that  what  stood  between  him  and 
Eva  must  be  removed  before  he  could  try  to  claim  her ; 
and  this  not  from  any  love  of  dictating  on  her  part,  but 
simply  because  it  must  be.  Of  course,  he  must  know  all 
this  as  well  as  she  did,  but  she  must  talk  fairly  and  get  him 
to  admit  it.  They  would  think  things  over,  and  she  would 
do  the  best  she  could  for  both  of  them— and  for  herself, 
too.  But  she  knew  Robin  and  his  red-hot  temper,  and 
her  heart  sank;  and  at  the  thought  of  losing  Errol  she 
grew  strangely  weak. 

Calmer  and  clearer  in  mind,  but  yet  leaving  much  to  the 
chance  fall  of  words,  Gret  got  back  into  the  boat  and 
rowed  down  to  the  Orchards.  Her  oars  lagged ;  she  was 
taking  the  first  step  into  trouble  that  stretched  farther 
than  she  could  see.  Now  and  again,  just  for  a  moment, 
the  temptation  was  strong  upon  her  to  row  on  by  and  let 
things  take  their  course.  How  could  she  risk  letting 
Errol  know?  How  could  she  risk  being  put  away  by 
him?  It  would  be  so  easy  to  let  things  go— so  safe !  For 
then  Robin's  lips  would  be  safely  sealed  forever.  Yet 
she  rowed  on ;  she  dared  not  stop.  Gret  had  never  before 
known  what  it  was  not  to  dare ;  now  she  knew.    She  had 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  335 

never  before  realized  what  sin  was;  now  she  knew  she 
was  tempted  by  it. 

Robin  was.  sitting  on  the  veranTia-steps  as  Gret  moored 
at  the  landing-,  and  he  watched  her,  at  first  curiously  and 
then  with  apprehension,  as  she  approached  him  up  the 
path  edged  with  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes.  The 
brilliant  winter  sunshine  was  behind  and  cast  a  great 
shadow  before  her,  and  it  seemed  to  Robin  that  the  girl 
loomed  supematurally  large.  Her  eyes,  that  rested  on 
his  face,  glowed  with  contained  passion,  and  as  she  drew 
the  deep,  silent  breaths  that  made  her  thin  nostrils  quiver, 
Robin  felt  oddly  that  he  would  not  be  surprised  to  see  her 
break  out  in  flame  at  every  point  of  the  lithe  body.  So 
great  was  the  power  of  her  repressed  rage  that  it  seemed 
as  if  all  create  surroundings  faded  away,  leaving  her 
dominating  the  entire  horizon— a  stern  figure,  in  an  un- 
natural light,  and  full  of  a  living  fire. 

"Robin,"  she  began  very  quietly,  "I  've  heard  about 
you  and  Eva." 

Robin's  lips  parted  to  speak,  but  no  word  came.  In- 
stead, his  eyes  were  glued  to  her  face  and  he  waited 
breathlessly  for  her  next  words. 

"You  know  very  well,"  went  on  Gret,  "that  it  won't  do." 

Expectation  faded  instantly  out  of  Robin's  face.  The 
familiar  dull  red  of  his  temper  crept  over  it,  and  his 
eyes  flashed.     "Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

"You  know  why  not." 

"I  don't !  You  bet  I  don't !  You  're  going  to  get  mar- 
ried, are  n't  you?"  His  voice  rose,  as  usual  with  him 
when  crossed  or  excited.  To  Gret  it  was  all  so  hatefully 
familiar. 

"I  was,  yes ;  but  not  to  any  one  belonging  to  you." 

"Would  n't  have  cared  if  it  had  been !"  contemptuously. 

"Perhaps  not.  It  would  have  been  a  man,  for  one  thing, 
and  it  would  n't  hurt  a  man  so  much,"  said  Gret. 


336  GRET 

"And  so  you  think  you  can  get  married,  and  do  just  as 
you  like,"  went  on  Robin  excitedly ;  "but  if  I  try  to  do  the 
same  thing,  it 's  all  wrong,  eh  ?" 

"Don't  talk  so  like  a  kid,"  said  Gret,  forcing  herself  to 
retain  her  temper  that  she  might  reason  with  him.  "If  it 
had  been  any  other  girl  than  Eva  I  would  n't  have  taken 
any  notice.  It  would  have  been  wrong  just  the  same,  but 
I  should  n't  have  bothered;  I  should  n't  have  thought  it 
was  any  of  my  business.  We  had  decided  to  let  that— 
that  foolishness  go  as  nothing.  But  I  can't  let  you— pre- 
tend to  marry  Eva.    What  would  she  be  afterwards  ?" 

"What  you  '11  be  when  you  marry  that  swell  of  yours," 
retorted  Robin  coarsely. 

Gret's  lips  hardened  into  a  thin  line.  But  she  still  kept 
a  hold  on  her  temper.  "Yes,  just  the  same;  but  I  know 
—I  choose  to  pay  that  price.  She  can't  choose,  because 
she  does  n't  know.  And,"  she  added  in  a  quiet,  measured 
way,  "I  would  n't  let  her  choose  as  /  did  if  she  wanted 
to."  She  spoke  in  a  hushed  sort  of  voice,  for  the  truth  of 
what  she  said  came  to  her  even  as  she  spoke. 

"Indeed  !"  sneered  Robin.  "Nice  to  be  able  to  say  what 
people  shall  do,  is  n't  it  ?"  He  was  in  too  great  a  temper 
to  think  for  himself  or  make  an  initiative  remark. 

A  look  of  weary  disgust  passed  over  Gret's  face,  but 
she  was  still  wonderfully  contained  and  patient.  She 
kept  ever  in  her  mind  her  own  share  of  blame  in  the  mat- 
ter. 

"I  don't  see  why  we  should  n't  gradually  work  round 
to  the  right  way  of  doing  things,"  she  said,  ignoring  his 
remark.  "There  must  be  a  way  of  undoing  what  we  did; 
though  I  suppose  it  would  take  time.  I  don't  understand 
much  about  that  sort  of  thing.  But  we  '11  all  three  get 
together  and  talk—" 

But  Robin  interrupted  her  with  a  shout.  "You  won't 
tell  Eva !"    He  sprang  up  and  stood  before  Gret,  a  big, 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  337 

broad-shouldered  man,  but  senseless  in  his  passion  as  a 
spoiled  child.  "Think  I  '11  have  her  know  what  I  was  go- 
ing to  let  her  do?  No!  I  'd  never  marry  her  if  she 
knew  that.  She  'd  have  it  in  for  me  always.  Don't  you 
dare  tell  her.  If  you  do — "  He  actually  shook  his  fist  in 
the  girl's  face,  so  great  was  his  rage. 

Gret  looked  at  him  in  measureless  disgust.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  was  silent,  at  a  loss  for  the. most  advisable  ar- 
gument to  pursue  with  a  man  in  a  state  of  mind  like  this. 
Then  suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  her.  Very  likely  she 
had  been  foolish  to  come  to  him  at  all  in  the  first  place. 
She  should  have  gone  to  Eva.  Eva  would  have  been 
much  more  easily  pacified,  would  certainly  be  more 
gentle  and  reasonable,  and  then  she  could  have  helped 
pacify  Robin.  Gret  had  little  fear  but  that  Eva  could  be 
talked  into  a  reasonable  frame  of  mind,  though  she  had 
her  doubts  as  to  whether  she  would  want  afterward  to 
have  much  more  to  do  with  Robin.  Still,  she  would  ex- 
plain everything  to  her,  and  then  Eva,  who  liked  him, 
could  talk  to  this  man  so  much  better  than  Gret  herself, 
who  hated  him. 

Having  decided  this  without  troubling  to  explain  to 
Robin,  she  turned  quietly  round  and  began  to  walk  down 
the  path. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  Eva  ?"  called  Robin  sharply  after 
her. 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  '11  have  to  tell  her  anyway !"  called  Gret  in 
reply,  but  without  pausing  or  turning  her  head.  "If  I 
did  n't  you  'd  manage  to  do  something  underhanded 
that  I  could  n't  undo." 

Robin  shouted  something  else  after  her,  but  his  voice 
was  choked  with  rage,  and  Gret  did  not  catch  what  it  was. 
But  it  did  not  matter.  It  was  not  the  least  use  trying  to 
talk  to  him  until  he  had  had  time  to  get  over  his  first  fit 
of  rage.    And  so  Gret  went  quietly  on  down  the  path  and 

22 


338  GRET 

got  into  the  boat.  As  she  sat  down  and  began  to  row  ofF 
she  saw  Robin  tear  into  the  house.  She  reflected  that  per- 
haps he  was  going  to  follow  her  down  home,  but  the  re- 
flection did  not  worry  her.  He  would  have  to  be  more 
circumspect  in  his  bearing  there. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  follow  her,  however.  And  Gret 
went  quietly  home  and  sat  down  to  a  dinner  that  for  once 
she  could  only  pretend  to  eat.  From  time  to  time  she 
glanced  at  Eva.  Her  heart  was  tender  toward  the  girl 
who  also  was  soon  to  be  robbed  of  her  brief  happiness. 
But  in  the  midst  of  all  her  trouble  she  did  not  look  back 
and  repine  or  reproach  herself.  She  had  done  what  she 
thought  best  at  the  time,  and  she  had  always  done  that; 
no  more,  no  less. 

During  the  meal  both  Eva  and  her  mother  glanced 
time  and  again  at  Gret.  Her  face  was  composed,  but 
there  was  a  weightiness  about  her  expression,  a  frozen 
look  about  her  eyes  that  had  never  been  there  before. 
Eva  glanced  apprehensively  and  penitently,  and  her 
mother  curiously.  But  Mrs.  Silway  never  invited  her 
daughters'  confidences ;  she  had  neglected  to  do  so  as  chil- 
dren, now  that  they  were  grown-up  and  initiative  beings, 
she  would  not. 

After  dinner,  instead  of  going  out  to  the  bluflP,  Gret 
went  up  to  her  room.  She  knew  that  Eva  the  penitent 
would  follow  her,  as  she  did. 

"Gret,  I  do  think  you  're  unkind  to  be  so  cross.  I  can't 
see  that  I  've  done  anything—" 

Gret  turned  suddenly  round  from  the  window,  and  held 
up  her  hand.  To  be  dramatic  was  the  last  effect  she 
aimed  at ;  but  at  this  moment  she  was. 

"Eva,  wait  a  minute !  When  you  promised  to  marry 
Robin,  were  n't  you  ever  afraid  he  might  already  be  mar- 
ried to  some  one  else  ?" 

Eva  started  and  stared  at  her  sister,  then  she  laughed ; 


GRET  HEARS  NEWS  339 

puzzled  as  she  was,  she  could  not  but  be  amused  at  such 
an  odd,  uncalled-for  question.  "Why,  of  course  not! 
Who  could  he  have  married?" 

Gret  smiled,  a  faint,  grim  smile.  **He  could  have  mar- 
ried me !"  And  then,  cutting  short  the  answer  already  on 
Eva's  lips,  she  added,  "And  he  did." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
TOO  late! 

IT  seemed  to  Gret  that,  after  all,  most  human  beings 
are  undiscovered  mines.  Well  as  she  thought  she 
knew  her  sister,  yet,  after  her  lover's  intended  treachery 
was  made  known  to  her,  Eva  acted  in  a  way  Gret  would 
never  have  expected  or  imagined.  At  first,  of  course, 
in  view  of  Gret's  own  proposed  marriage  and  all  other 
attendant  circumstances,  she  refused  to  believe  Gret's 
few  and  quiet  words.  But  when  convinced,  the  first 
feelings  that  seemed  to  be  inspired  by  the  amazing  truth 
was  jealousy  and  a  distinct  feeling  of  spite  against  Gret. 
It  seemed  to  the  astounded  elder  girl  that  the  knowledge 
of  the  wrong  Robin  had  intended  doing  her  was  insig- 
nificant to  Eva  beside  the  fact  that  Gret  had  superseded 
her  in  her  choice  of  a  lover.  She  wept  stormily  and  un- 
abatedly. 

'T  don't  care !"  she  sobbed  out,  lying  on  the  bed  in  her 
abandon.  "You  may  have  got  him,  but  he  does  n't  love 
you.    I  'm  the  one  he  loves !" 

"Of  course,"  said  Gret  contemptuously;  "he  hates  me 
as  badly  as  I  do  him." 

After  a  while  this  assurance,  repeated  in  various  and 
more  emphatic  forms,  proved  so  comforting  that  Eva's 
sobs  abated  somewhat,  and  she  presently  sat  up  on  the 
bed  and  began  to  question.  She  made  Gret  give  her  every 
detail,  every  circumstance  preceding  and  following  that 
ill-advised  day  of  long  ago,  which,  for  that  matter,  Gret 


TOO  LATE  341 

was  quite  willing  to  do.  And  again  Eva  was  comforted. 
It  never  had  been  anything  but  a  matter  of  words,  and 
Robin  had  never  really  cared  for  Gret.  And  Gret  made 
a  point  of  contributing  to  the  relief  of  her  sister's  jeal- 
ousy by  declaring  often  and  scornfully  that  never  had  the 
faintest  tinge  of  affection  existed  between  herself  and 
Robin,  and  never  in  the  future  could  anything  but  dislike 
be  felt  between  them. 

And  then,  hurrying  to  take  advantage  of  the  period  of 
calm  following  on  this  comforting  assurance,  Gret  be- 
gan to  discuss  remedial  measures.  She  did  not  know 
much,  if  anything,  of  divorce  laws,  but  she  had  great 
faith  in  the  power  of  money.  To-morrow,  she  told  Eva, 
she  would  go  down  to  Granite  and  consult  the  best  of  the 
three  lawyers  there.  She  did  not  deem  it  advisable  to 
consult  the  one  attorney  in  Quellish,  who  was  also  her 
mother's  attorney. 

"It  takes  six  months  to  get  a  divorce,  though ;  I  know  it 
does,"  said  Eva  disconsolately. 

"Well !  It 's  better  to  wait  six  months  than  to  wait  for- 
ever, is  n't  it?"  observed  Gret  almost  curtly.  She  could 
not  but  remember  that  her  own  fate  was  very  much  more 
uncertain,  very  much  more  threatening,  than  Eva's.  But 
Eva  did  not  think  of  any  of  these  things.  She  only  saw 
a  long,  dreary  wait  before  her,  and  wept  afresh. 

Gret  sat  and  quietly  waited  for  her  to  grow  calm  again, 
which  after  a  while  she  did.  The  very  fact  that  some  one 
was  sitting  waiting  for  her  to  become  quiet  had  a  quelling 
effect,  and  so  she  sat  up,  dried  her  eyes,  and  once  more 
evinced  a  readiness  to  discuss  the  situation. 

The  two  girls  talked  far  into  the  night— with  intermis- 
sions caused  by  fresh  outbursts  of  Eva's  grief  and  disap- 
pointment—of the  5teps  to  be  taken  on  the  difficult  path 
before  them.  It  was  agreed  that  strictest  secrecy  be  pre- 
served between  the  three;  the  truth  must  be  kept  from 


342  GRET 

every  one,  even  their  mother.  And  Eva  pledged  herself 
as  to  Robin's  compliance  with  everything  she  should 
deem  advisable.  It  pleased  her  afresh  to  think  that  she 
alone  could  influence  him,  a  distinction  that  Gret  was 
perfectly  willing  to  concede.  And  when,  half-way  into 
the  night,  all  was  arranged  that  could  possibly  be  ar- 
ranged beforehand,  the  two  girls  retired  to  their  respect- 
ive beds — Eva  for  another  fit  of  crying,  and  Gret  to 
think  and  wonder,  and  alternately  hope  and  despair. 

Before  she  went  to  sleep  Gret  thought  with  fresh 
amazement  of  the  new  side  of  her  character  presented  by 
Eva  that  night.  The  wrong  that  to  the  girl  of  harsher 
mold  had  seemed  so  heinous  she  would  risk  her  life's 
happiness  rather  than  permit  it,  to  the  girl  of  soft  and 
gentle  mood  was  nothing  compared  to  the  possible  loss  of 
her  lover.  And  even  in  the  midst  of  her  anxiety  and  trou- 
ble Gret  wondered.  Love  was  everything.  The  world 
was  not  lost  when  that  yet  remained. 

The  next  morning  Eva  was  not  able  to  leave  her  room 
for  swollen  eyes  and  headache ;  but  she  called  Gret  to  her 
bedside  and  whispered  to  her  to  go  and  find  Robin  and  tell 
him  that  she  still  loved  and  would  wait  for  him.  And  Gret 
promised,  and  also  promised  to  come  right  back  and  tell 
Eva  what  he  said.  She  further  proposed  to  go  down  to 
Granite  that  day  and  consult  the  lawyer,  but  Eva  wished 
to  wait  until  Robin's  opinion  could  be  gained  on  that  and 
other  details.  And  so  it  was  finally  agreed  that  Gret 
should  invite  Robin  to  a  conference  of  three  that  after- 
noon or  evening.  It  v/as  certainly  not  Gret's  way  to  con- 
sult with  any  one  before  acting,  but  in  this  case  she  de- 
ferred to  Eva,  who  seemed  to  be  carefully  guarding 
against  any  possible  slight  to  Robin. 

And  so,  in  obedience  to  Eva's  wishes,  and  also  in  ac- 
cordance with  ideas  of  her  own,  Gret  went  up  to  the  Or- 
chards in  search  of  Robin.    But  she  could  not  find  either 


TOO  LATE  343 

him  or  Henry.  The  place  seemed  deserted.  She  rowed 
a  little  way  up  and  down  the  river,  and  went  up  to  the 
camp,  but  no  Robin.  So,  deciding  that  he  must  have 
gone  down  to  the  Harbor,  Gret  went  back  home  and  so 
explained  to  the  waiting  Eva.    Eva  was  worried  at  once. 

"He  would  n't  go  away,  would  he  ?"  she  inquired  anx- 
iously. 

"Why,  of  course  not  V  replied  Gret  scornfully  .  "Where 
would  he  go  to  ?" 

That  afternoon,  while  Eva,  relieved  from  her  head- 
ache, was  sleeping  a  troubled,  restless  sleep,  Gret  rowed 
up  the  river  again.  There  were  no  signs  of  life  about  the 
Orchards  yet,  and  so  Gret  rowed  on,  more  or  less  aim- 
lessly. She  was  so  harassed  and  anxious  that  she  could 
not  be  still,  and  she  rowed  for  the  mere  relief  of  action. 
And  in  this  way,  not  exactly  looking  for  him,  but  glad 
nevertheless  to  find  him,  Gret  met  Robin. 

Apart  from  other  troubles,  just  now  Robin  was  much 
ruffled  in  spirit  over  domestic  matters.  So  altogether  un- 
civil and  explosive  had  he  been  the  day  before  that 
Henry,  the  long-suffering,  who  had  been  gradually  tiring 
of  doing  two  men's  work  when  he  was  only  hired  and 
paid  for  one,  had  decided  to  settle  matters  once  for  all  by 
leaving.  And  so  last  night,  taking  advantage  of  an  eve- 
ning trip  made  by  his  master  to  the  Harbor,  Henry  had 
made  a  sudden  exit.  Robin  had  hunted  all  day,  but  could 
find  no  trace  of  his  missing  servitor;  and  now,  with  stock 
at  home  waiting  to  be  fed  and  watered  and  endless  work 
to  be  done,  he  was  returning,  in  a  most  unenviable  frame 
of  mind,  from  a  hasty  visit  of  inquiry  to  the  Gradel  ranch. 

They  met  in  the  Jam.  The  tide  had  begun  to  run  in, 
but  as  yet  there  was  not  sufficient  water  to  allow  of  the 
width  and  play  of  two  pairs  of  oars.  The  slope  of  the 
banks  was  steep,  and  what  water  there  was  was  deep ;  but 
there  was  not  yet  room  for  two  boats  to  pass  between  the 


344  GRET 

edge  of  the  boom  and  shallow  water,  and  Robin  and  Gret, 
both  standing  up  and  paddling  gondolier  fashion,  sheared 
noses  and  came  to  a  halt. 

In  a  strictly  impersonal  voice  Gret  delivered  Eva's  mes- 
sage word  for  word,  and  ended  by  requesting  his  presence 
on  the  bluff  that  evening  for  the  purpose  of  joint  consul- 
tation. 

Robin  was  palpably  taken  aback.  Like  Gret  herself,  he 
had  never  dreamed  but  that  Eva  would  look  very  seri- 
ously on  the  wrong  he  had  been  about  to  do  her — so  seri- 
ously, indeed,  that  her  love  for  him  could  never  again  be 
the  same.  And  in  view  of  this  certainty  he  had  done 
what,  even  so  soon,  he  would  gladly  undo.  Yet  he  would 
not  appear  to  falter  now.  He  looked  at  Gret  with  nar- 
rowed eyes. 

"You  're  so  busy  fixing  my  affairs.  How  are  you  going 
to  fix  your  own?" 

"I  '11  see  when  the  time  comes,"  replied  Gret  shortly. 

"It  '11  come  very  soon,"  said  Robin,  with  an  air  of  bra- 
vado, more  assumed  than  felt.  He  was  victor  for  the 
moment,  but  victory  is  sometimes  dearly  bought.  "Last 
night  I  wrote  and  told  Ludlowe  about— who  you  were." 

All  the  bronze  faded  out  of  Gret's  eyes,  leaving  the  still, 
deep  sea-water  shade.  "I  don't  believe  it !"  she  said  with 
the  intake  of  her  breath.    "You  don't  know  his  address." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do— the  St.  Francis  Hotel,"  said  Robin 
quickly. 

Gret  lifted  her  head  for  a  moment.  "Have  you  posted 
the  letter?" 

"Yes;  I  went  down  last  night  and  posted  it."  And 
then,  feeling  that  a  proper  show  of  righteous  rage  was 
necessary  to  the  situation,  he  went  on :  "You  always  did 
think  you  were  too  clever  for  any  use— arranging  other 
people's  affairs ;  but  there  's  such  a  thing  as  getting  too 
smart.    Try  and  show  a  little  smartness  in  arranging  youi 


TOO  LATE  345 

own  affairs  now.    I  called  after  you  last  night  that  I  'd 
do  it  if  you  told  Eva." 

Gret  did  not  answer ;  she  did  not  look  at  him,  and  it  is 
doubtful  whether  she  even  heard  what  he  said. 
Robin  was  prepared  to  see  her  get  furiously  angry— in 
her  quiet  way— but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  effect  his 
words  had  on  her.  The  color  ebbed  away  from  her 
face,  even  from  her  lips;  and  she  stood  quiet,  with  bent 
head.  She  folded  her  hands  in  a  quaint  way  across  her 
breast,  and  drew  one  deep,  long  sigh.  Her  wide  eyes 
rested  on  the  deep  water,  and  the  moving  of  the  boat 
swayed  her  body  slightly;  but  her  face  was  set  like  that 
of  a  dead  woman. 

The  river  swished  and  rippled  round  the  boom,  and  the 
great  trees  stood  tall  and  watchful  about  them.  But  still 
Gret  stood,  with  bent  head  and  that  strange  look  on  her 
face.  She  reminded  Robin  of  a  picture  he  had  once  seen 
of  a  nun  taking  the  vows  that  consecrated  her  life.  He 
grew  uneasy,  and  a  sense  of  chill  passed  over  him;  his 
old  fear  of  the  girl  crept  back,  for  the  moment  super- 
seding and  annulling  his  ill  temper.  He  was  a  fool  not 
to  have  waited  a  little  longer.  She  could  not  have  taken 
his  trump  card  away  from  him,  nor  even  robbed  it  of  any 
of  its  power.  It  would  have  done  just  as  good  work  late 
as  early. 

Presently  Gret  looked  up,  a  faint  smile  creeping  over 
lips  that  had  a  hard,  twisted  look.  And  again  she  sighed, 
that  deep,  long  sigh  of  finality. 

Time  is  effect.  But  for  its  effect  upon  animate  things 
it  would  be  as  nothing.  And  by  this  same  law  our  lives 
are  shaped  more  by  moments  here  and  there  than  by  all 
the  years  that  lie  between.  In  the  few  moments  that 
had  just  passed  there  had  opened  a  wide  gulf  between 
Gret  and  the  happy  girl  treasuring  thoughts  of  her  fu- 
ture.   So  far  away  was  she  already  from  that  other  girl 


346  GRET 

with  the  glad  heart  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she  could 
never  have  been.  And  in  those  few  moments  Gret  forgot 
her  love  for  Eva,  all  sense  of  fairness,  all  goodness,  all 
hope.  She  gave  herself  over  to  a  hate  that  would  be  deep 
enough  and  bitter  enough  to  fill  her  days. 

"Well !"  Her  tones  were  hard  and  incisive,  though 
quiet.  'Then  that 's  all  ended.  Now  I  am  free.  Oh,  no, 
though.  Now  I,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  chest  with 
a  mocking  movement,  "am  your  wife."  She  looked  at 
Robin  smilingly,  but  his  eyelids  faltered  beneath  the  wide 
stare  of  her  eyes.  "You  shall  have  no  other."  She 
paused,  and  then  repeated  her  words  slowly,  "You  shall 
have  no  other." 

"Do  you  mean  you  won't— won't  try  to  get  a  divorce?" 
demanded  Robin.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  such  a  con- 
tingency. 

"Never,  never !"  She  laughed.  "Why,  I  have  nothing 
left  to  live  for  now  but  you.  You  would  n't  rob  me  of 
that,  would  you  ?  I  shall  live  with  you— and  you  will  live 
with  me.    And  you  '11  wish  you  had  never  been  born." 

"I  won't !"  declared  Robin  loudly,  but  dismay  mingling 
with  the  rage  in  his  eyes,  nevertheless.  "Would  n't  live 
with  you  a  day!" 

"What  will  you  do,  then  ?"  inquired  Gret,  almost  gently. 
"You  can't  sell  the  Orchards.  It  's  half  mine  as  your 
wife,  and  I  '11  never  sign.  If  you  go,  it  will  have  to  be 
penniless,  and  then  you  '11  have  to  work.  Work !  Think 
of  it !  I  don't  think  you  '11  find  that  that  great  friend  of 
yours,  Cecil,  will  take  half  so  much  interest  in  you  when 
he  finds  you  have  nothing  behind  you.  When  probate  is 
settled  I  shall  have  some  money  of  my  own,  but  none  of  it 
will  ever  go  into  your  house.  If  your  home  yields  you  a 
living,  it  will  be  of  your  own  making,  even  to  the  help 
you  hire  to  do  the  work  you  shirk." 

Robin  thought  a  moment,  or  tried  to.     "Waugh!"  he 


TOO  LATE  347 

cried,  trying  with  a  gesture  of  contempt  to  throw  off  the 
fears  that  were  assaiUng  him.  "You  're  just  talking  to 
hear  yourself.  A  man  can't  be  made  to  live  with  a  woman 
unless  he  wants  to— need  n't  tell  me !" 

"Oh,  no,"  admitted  Gret  quietly.  "You  can  go  away, 
as  I  said  before.  I  shall  be  quite  happy  in  our  home  with- 
out you.    Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Robin  did  not  answer,  but  he  drew  his  breath  in- 
through  shut  teeth  as  he  stood  gazing  at  the  girl  before 
him.  His  eyes  glistened  with  rage.  In  her  he  recognized 
henceforth  the  one  plague  spot  of  his  existence.  He  knew 
she  spoke  in  no  idle  spirit  of  braggadocio ;  she  never  did. 
She  would  do  all  and  more  than  she  said.  And  as  it 
never  had  occurred  to  Robin  that  any  trouble  which  had 
come  to  him  might  be  of  his  own  making,  so  it  did  not 
now.  He  only  saw  in  Gret  the  presentment  of  a  hateful 
and  boundless  spite.  And  very  certain  it  is  that  if  fervent 
wishing  could  slay  any  one,  Gret  would  have  died  in  her 
shoes  where  she  stood.  Alive,  she  would  always  prove 
his  Nemesis ;  dead — but  Robin's  mouth  turned  down  with 
hopeless  disgust;  there  was  no  such  luck  as  her  dying! 
She  was  not  that  kind.  She  would  be  there,  triumphant, 
to  the  end.  The  only  person  who  might  be  able  to  turn 
her  from  her  avowed  purpose  would  be  Eva.  Again 
Robin  tried  to  think  to  some  purpose,  and  dropped  his 
eyes  reflectively  to  the  water. 

Gret  stood  watching  him  keenly,  her  boat,  forced  up- 
ward by  the  incoming  tide,  nosing  gently  between  Robin's 
boat  and  the  boom.  She  noted  the  varying  but  equally 
sinister  expressions  that  chased  across  his  countenance, 
and  smiled.    It  was  her  turn  now. 

"You  need  not  study  how  to  get  around  things,"  she 
observed  calmly;  "because  you  can't.  Nothing  that  you 
can  do — now — can  prevent  me  doing  what  I  have  said. 
Don't  think  you  can  get  at  me  through  Eva,  because  you 


348  GRET 

can't.  She  'II  think  I  'm  very  unkind  and  all  that,  I  know. 
But  I  shall  be  doing  her  a  better  turn  than  she  '11  ever 
know  of  in  saving  her  from  you.  You  may  succeed  in 
giving  me  a  little  trouble ;  but,  dear  me,  I  shall  be  pining 
for  something  to  do.  And  you  '11  never  get  very  far 
ahead  of  me,  because  I  shall  watch  every  move  you  make. 
If  I  get  tired  of  watching  myself,  I  '11  hire  some  one  to 
do  it.    That  's  easy— when  you  have  money." 

Robin  lifted  his  eyes,  though  not  his  head,  and  looked 
at  her  in  a  strange,  quiet  way.  And  then  suddenly  he  gave 
way  to  one  of  those  unaccountable  impulses  by  which 
man  is  sometimes  seized  to  the  making  or  undoing  of  his 
destiny.  Most  mysterious  of  all  the  many  mysteries  of 
that  unimagined  deep,  the  mind,  are  these  sudden  well- 
springs  of  action.  Possibly  with  murderous  intent,  or 
possibly  only  in  a  sudden  access  of  rage,  Robin  leaned 
forward  and  dealt  Gret  a  ringing  slap  on  the  face.  She 
must  inevitably  have  been  knocked  out  of  the  boat  but 
for  an  unconscious  habit,  born  of  her  constant  practice  in 
balancing,  on  fallen  timber,  in  boats,  and  on  the  skid-road. 
Even  when  standing  relaxed  and  in  repose,  one  foot  al- 
ways seemed  to  be  a  little  behind  the  other,  unconsciously 
ever  ready;  and  now,  though  she  staggered  back  the 
length  of  the  boat,  the  slim  foot  had  darted  out  in  time, 
with  incredible  quickness  she  had  shot  back  into  the  bow 
of  the  boat  and  returned  the  blow  with  vicious  interest. 
And  he,  who  should  have  been  warned  where  she  was 
not,  did  precisely  what  he  had,  perhaps,  counted  on  her 
doing :  he  staggered  and  stepped  on  the  side  of  the  boat. 
It  tipped  and  slid  from  under  him,  emptying  him  gently 
out.  He  struck  the  boom-post  a  few  feet  behind  him,  slid 
obliquely  along  it,  and  vanished  into  the  smooth,  dark 
water. 

Gret  drew  a  long,  quiet  breath  and  stood  triumphant, 
her  nostrils  dilated  and  eyes  wide.    She  watched  for  him 


TOO  LATE  349 

to  rise,  a  half  smile  on  I'ier  lips  at  the  ridiculous  figure  he 
would  doubtless  make  when  he  should  appear,  spluttering 
with  rage,  and  dripping  with  water.  He  did  not  appear 
by  the  boat,  however,  and  she  turned  her  head.  He  was 
evidently  too  mad  to  come  up  near  her  again,  but  would 
land  on  the  boom  sills  somewhere  a  little  lower  down. 
But  a  moment  went  by  and  she  could  see  no  sign  of  him, 
and  the  rage  died  out  of  her  eyes  and  amazement  took  its 
place.  He  was  a  good  swimmer  and  could  come  up  any- 
where, but  not  without  her  seeing.  She  gazed  up  and 
down  and  from  side  to  side.  No  sign.  The  tide  flowed 
on  in  uninterrupted  smoothness.  And  then,  with  a  certain 
quietening  of  the  pulse  within  her,  Gret  recognized  what 
had  happened.  He  had  struck  the  boom-post  on  entering 
the  water  and,  not  recovering  himself  instantly,  had  been 
borne  under  the  boom  by  the  inturned  tide.  She  snatched 
up  an  oar  and,  moving  the  boat  forward,  fished  under  the 
sills  of  the  boom. 

"Robin!"  she  called.     "Robin!" 

No  answer ;  no  sign.  She  tried  with  an  oar  to  move  the 
big  logs  with  which  the  boom  was  packed,  but  could  only 
just  faintly  stir  them.  She  looked  round.  None  lived 
within  calling  distance ;  and  anyway  it  was  too  late.  The 
tide  would  keep  him  under  the  boom,  and  the  boom 
stretched  for  a  mile  or  more  above  them. 

Gret  stood  for  a  moment,  the  oar  still  in  her  hands, 
taking  brief  counsel  with  herself.  She  had  a  sense  of 
not  being  alone.  Every  tree  in  that  great  community 
towering  on  each  side  of  her  watched  and  waited  with 
her,  breathless  and  motionless ;  the  river  ceased  swishing 
round  the  boom  and  stood  calm  for  a  moment. 

Then  she  wakened  to  the  situation.  She  looked  up  and 
down  the  stream  once  more.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  save 
the  idly-floating  boat  and  oar  and  Robin's  soft  felt  hat. 
Gret  lowered  her  oar  into  the  water  and  paddled  swiftly 


350  GRET 

out  from  among  them  on  up  the  stream  past  the  Jam. 
Much  higher  up,  long  past  Gradel's,  in  a  place  that  she 
knew,  Gret  tied  the  boat  up  to  a  willow,  climbed  out,  and 
vanished  into  the  brush. 

Later  on,  on  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  the  Hidden 
Canoe,  Gret  sat  down  and  rested.  One  half  the  lake 
was  in  shadow,  and  the  other  half,  lighted  from  a  rift  in 
pearl-gray  clouds,  rippled  in  glancing  beauty.  And  Gret 
sat  and  gazed  at  it  with  wide  eyes.  Though  perfectly 
calm,  perfectly  mistress  of  herself,  she  was  yet  full  of 
an  inward  excitement  which,  when  it  died  down,  would 
probabjy  leave  a  sense  of  shock.  Perhaps  she  only  had 
one  definite  thought  as  yet — Too  late !    Too  late ! 

Of  Robin  and  his  end  Gret  thought  very  little  yet.  If 
she  had  seen  him  die,  seen  one  death  struggle,  one  agon- 
ized look,  she  would  never  have  forgotten  it  as  long  as 
she  lived.  But  she  had  seen  nothing.  He  had  just  calmly 
and  gracefully  slid  off  the  earth,  which,  in  her  eyes  at  all 
events,  he  burdened.  And  at  present  Gret  could  only 
think  of  the  terrible  tangle  so  suddenly  dissolved,  and 
the  dissolution  that  came  too  late. 

Of  course  to  many  women — indeed,  perhaps,  to  all 
women  not  brought  up  as  Gret  had  been— such  a  calm  ac- 
ceptance of  conditions  would  have  been  impossible.  To  a 
city  woman  with  the  usual  highly  strung  nervous  system, 
and  the  usual  mind  stored  with  literature  and  drama 
which  place  the  emotions  on  a  scale  never  intended  by 
nature,  a  position  like  Gret's  would  be  fraught  with  ter- 
ror. But  Gret  had  grown  up  with  men  who  dealt  with 
nature  and  understood  and  spoke  nothing  else.  The 
books  and  dramas  unfolded  to  her  were  only  those  of 
life;  her  mind  had  grown  and  widened  on  things  seen, 
not  on  things  imagined,  and  realities  have  a  most  matter- 
of-fact  way  of  educating.  She  had  seen  pitiful  animal 
tragedies,  as  pitiful  as  anything  human,  that  went  un- 


TOO  LATE  351 

mourned ;  and  she  saw  nature  indulge  in  titanic  passions 
that  passed  and  left  no  shadow  on  the  blue  of  heaven. 

The  more  natural  the  man,  the  fewer  the  emotions. 
Primitive  man  had  few,  love  and  hate  being  probably  the 
whole  gamut.  And  on  the  way  back  to  nature  all  the 
thousand  and  one  shades  of  sentiment  and  emotion, 
groundless  fears  and  delusive  hopes,  born  of  ultra-civil- 
ization, are  cast  aside  as  hampering  baggage  for  which 
there  is  no  possible  use  or  place  in  real  life.  Gret  was  not 
exactly  a  primitive  woman;  but  she  was  too  splendidly 
healthy,  her  nerves  were  too  sound  and  unassertive,  and 
her  mind  too  matter-of-fact  and  steady  to  be  troubled 
with  any  nightmares  born  of  her  own  imaginings,  or 
with  regrets  born  of  a  false  conception  of  things.  If 
she  had  seen  suffering,  she  would  have  been  haunted  by 
the  sight  and  memory  of  it.    But  she  had  not. 

That  night,  in  the  men's  hall  in  the  camp,  some  of  the 
men  were  playing  cards  and  some  endeavoring  to  read. 
But  eight  or  ten  of  the  younger,  lighter  spirits,  with  much 
thumping  and  noise,  and  greatly  to  the  disgust  of  the 
card-players  and  readers,  were  stepping  a  barn  dance  to 
the  gusty,  wheezy  strains  of  the  "Washington  Post" 
squeezed  out  of  Oly's  concertina.  Jake,  leaning  idly 
against  the  door-post,  his  apron  on  in  token  that  his  word 
was  not  yet  quite  finished,  felt  a  light  touch  on  his  shoul- 
der. He  turned  his  head,  caught  sight  of  Gret,  and  gave 
a  start. 

"Lord,  you  're  always  scaring  me!"  And  then  he 
looked  closer  at  her  as  if  in  curiosity.  Gret  caught  the 
look,  and  hastened  to  cut  it  short.  She  burst  out  laugh- 
ing, and  nodded  toward  the  clattering  dancers. 

"Jake,  we  can  do  better  than  that.    Come  along !" 

Jake  accepted  the  invitation  immediately,  picked  up  the 
corner  of  his  apron,  and,  taking  Gret's  hand  with  a  minc- 
ing air,  stepped  into  the  room  to  the  time  of  the  dance. 


352  GRET 

As  they  proceeded,  in  an  artistic  combination  of  cake- 
walk  and  barn-dance,  they  were  greeted  by  a  yell  from 
Oly,  which  for  a  moment  caused  the  dancers  to  break 
time  as  they  paused  to  stare  at  the  addition  to  their  num- 
ber. Then  with  shouts  of  laughter  they  fell  into  the 
spirit  of  the  thing,  and  trailed  along  behind  Jake  and 
Gret,  who  continued  on  their  way  with  much  style  and 
seriousness. 

Others  hastened  to  join  the  dance,  and  the  laughter  and 
fun  grew  louder;  and  presently  Dick,  unassertive,  but 
always  watchful,  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  laughed, 
too,  though  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  expression  in  his 
eyes  was  altogether  approving  as  he  watched  Gret.  He 
placed  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder  as  she  paused  at 
last  before  him,  and  the  girl  looked  up  to  meet  the  puz- 
zled, half  wistful  glance  of  the  man  above  her. 

"Gret,  what  are  you  doing  out  at  this  time  ?'' 

"Why,  it 's  only  about  seven  o'clock,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  but  it 's  dark." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course  it  's  dark.  I  've  been  up  in  the 
woods  and  only  just  got  back." 

"Yes.  Some  day  you  '11  have  been  up  in  the  woods  and 
only  just  not  get  back  at  all,"  prophesied  Dick  gravely. 

"Either  that  or  fall  off.  a  raft  and  get  drowned," 
laughed  Gret.  Then,  with  a  Httle  conciliatory  nod,  "I  'm 
going  home  now,  Dickie." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  are,"  replied  the  foreman  quietly, 
reaching  for  one  of  the  collection  of  lanterns  that  stood 
in  the  corner  of  the  room;  "because  I  'm  going  to  take 
you." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

GOOD-BY 

ROBIN  START'S  body  was  not  recovered,  though 
hard  and  persistent  search  was  made  for  it.  There 
was  no  conjecture  as  to  the  manner  of  his  death,  for  the 
boat  and  floating  hat  in  the  Jam  told  its  own  seeming 
tale.  He  had  lost  his  balance  poling  down  the  Jam,  and 
had  been  carried  under  the  boom. 

Eva  alone  did  not  accept  this  theory.  When  first  the 
news  of  his  death  became  known  to  her— through  Lizzie, 
the  morning  following— she  rushed  wild-eyed  to  Gret,. 
who  was  still  in  her  room. 

"Robin  's  dead !  Oh,  he  's  dead !"  she  wailed,  clasping 
her  hands  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  despair.  "They  can  only 
find  the  boat  and  his  hat.  They  think  he  fell  out  of  the 
boat  but  I  know  he  did  n't.  You  said  terrible  things  to 
him  and  broke  my  poor  boy's  heart.  I  know  you  did !  I 
saw  it  by  your  face.  And  so  you  've  killed  him !  You 
know  you  have.  I  shall  always  hate  you,  for  I  know  you 
killed  him !" 

Gret  looked  at  the  frenzied  girl  with  a  startled  stare 
for  a  moment.  It  was  well  she  would  never  know  the 
whole  truth.  Then  pity  grew  in  her  eyes.  She  felt  no 
resentment  at  the  reproach  or  the  threat.  Poor  Eva! 
Though  her  own  heart  was  frozen,  it  seemed,  and  would 
hardly  respond  any  more  to  pity  or  fear,  yet  she  knew 
the  terrible,  heartrending  sense  of  loss  that  was  upon  the 
younger  girl  and  sympathized  with  her.     At  the  same 

23  353 


354  GRET 

time,  Gret  was  sufficient  judge  of  human  nature  to  divine 
that  Eva's  emotions,  so  intense  while  they  lasted,  would 
for  that  same  reason  be  of  shorter  duration.  Though  she 
would  never  realize  what  kind  of  a  man  she  had  been  de- 
livered from,  and  would  mourn  as  for  the  gallant  lover 
her  heart  pictured. 

Eva  rushed  off  to  join  in  the  fruitless  search  of  the 
river,  and,  her  state  of  grief  being  so  pronounced,  Gret 
felt  it  was  necessary  to  make  at  once  some  explanation  of 
it  to  her  mother.  Accordingly,  when  after  a  few  hours 
Eva  returned  to  the  house  and  rushed  like  a  whirlwind  to 
her  room,  she  sought  very  briefly  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  her  as  she  lay  sobbing  on  the  bed. 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  what  you  do,"  she  cried  bitterly.  "I 
don't  care  what  you  tell  her." 

"Very  well,  then.  I  shall  just  tell  her  that  you  were  en- 
gaged, but  that  father's  sickness  prevented  you  telling 
her.  Afterward  you  can  tell  her  as  much  more  as  you 
like,"  said  Gret  gently. 

And  with  that  she  left  the  room,  making  no  effort  to 
comfort  or  conciliate  the  grief -ridden  girl.  It  would  only 
worry  her  and  would  do  no  good ;  for  just  now  Eva  was 
fostering  a  feeling  of  bitterness  against  her  sister,  a 
feeling  that  Gret  made  no  attempt  to  dispel.  She  felt 
that  it  was  unjust,  and  born  to  a  certain  extent  of  igno- 
rance of  the  truths  underlying  the  situation,  but  trying  to 
reason  now  was  worse  than  useless.  By  and  by,  when  her 
grief  had  calmed  down  somewhat,  she  would  see  things 
in  a  clearer  light,  perhaps.  If  not —  Well !  It  was  like 
all  the  rest  of  the  things  that  could  not  be  helped. 

Gret's  communication  to  her  mother  was  brief  and  mat- 
ter-of-fact, and  Mrs.  Silway  accepted  the  information 
quietly.  She  was  not  so  greatly  surprised,  having  doubt- 
less noticed  Robin  and  Eva  together  very  frequently,  but 
she  was  greatly  shocked.    She  asked  Gret  very  few  ques- 


GOOD-BY  355 

tions,  having  made  up  her  mind  to  wait  for  her  daughters' 
confidences,  should  they  ever  now  be  disposed  to  give  them. 
During  her  husband's  death-hours  several  home-truths 
had  come  to  Mrs.  Silway,  one  being  the  simple  and  un- 
assailable axiom  that  two  wrongs  never  yet  made  one 
right.  In  her  province  as  mother  she  had  neglected  the 
moral  and  inward  part  of  her  daughters'  lives  as  much  as 
their  father  had  the  outward  and  material.  She  would 
not  now  attempt  to  force  their  confidence,  nor  intrude  un- 
invited into  the  privacy  that  seemed  to  hedge  their  lives 
about;  but  she  was  gentle  and  wistful  in  her  manner 
toward  them  where  before  she  had  been  austere. 

She  went  to  try  and  comfort  Eva,  but  found  her  as  yet 
totally  unable  to  accept  comfort  or  even  reason.  And, 
like  Gret,  Mrs.  Silway  felt  that  Eva's  grief,  though  fren- 
zied, almost  hysterical  at  present,  was  yet  of  a  safe  kind. 
It  was  spending  itself  in  oceans  of  tears. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible  to  receive  a  letter  from  Cali- 
fornia—indeed, even  before— Gret  went  down  to  the  Har- 
bor every  afternoon  for  letters.  None  came,  and  at  heart 
she  had  hardly  expected  one ;  she  felt  almost  sure  that 
Errol  would  come  up  himself  in  answer  to  such  a  com- 
munication as  he  had  received.  And  each  day  she  watched 
the  boat  into  the  Harbor.  One  afternoon  he  would  step 
ashore  from  it;  and  then,  in  an  hour — long  before  they 
could  get  home — this  torturing  suspense  would  be  over. 
And  yet  not  suspense  in  the  sense  of  uncertainty.  Gret 
had  no  hopes  whatever  of  the  outcome  of  the  interview 
between  herself  and  Errol ;  she  knew  beforehand  that  all 
was  irrevocably  lost.  Indeed,  her  own  pride  could  toler- 
ate no  compromise  such  as  now  remained  possible.  There 
could  be  no  confidence,  and  perhaps  but  little  respect,  and 
when  these  were  gone  nothing  remained. 

She  dreaded  seeing  him,  dreaded  so  much  that  her 
heart  beat  to  suffocation  at  the  thought  of  it ;  and  yet  she 


356  GRET 

was  glad  she  was  going  to  see  him  once  more.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  when  she  had  said  good-by  that  last  time  she 
had  not  looked  at  him  long  enough  or  hard  enough.  This 
time,  before  he  went  away  from  her,  she  would  follow 
every  line  of  the  proud,  serene  face,  every  line  of  the  figure 
whose  careless  grace  of  movement  she  had  watched  so 
often. 

Gret  had  pictured  herself  as  meeting  Errol  as  he 
stepped  from  the  boat,  and  had  gone  over  the  long  row 
home,  with  its  harsh  words  spoken  courteously  and  its  long 
silences  full  of  pain.  And  yet,  when  at  last  he  arrived, 
she  did  not  meet  him  in  this  manner  at  all. 

Coming  home  early  one  sweet,  moist  evening,  when 
the  warm,  gray  twilight  was  just  beginning  to  fall,  Gret 
saw  as  she  reached  the  top  of  the  bluff  a  familiar  figure 
on  the  veranda  with  her  mother.  Errol  sat  facing  the 
bluff,  and  must  have  seen  her  immediately,  and  so  Gret 
could  not  hesitate  even  a  moment.  She  drew  a  long,  hard 
breath,  and  walked  unwaveringly  up  to  the  house. 

Errol  rose  to  meet  her,  and  held  out  his  hand  with  a 
smile.  But  he  did  not  kiss  her,  and  Gret's  greeting  was 
so  quiet  that  Mrs.  Silway  looked  at  both  in  covert  wonder. 

"I  saw  the  boat  come  in  at  the  Harbor,"  said  Gret. 
"How  could  I  have  missed  you?" 

"I  came  up  from  Granite  on  the  /.  T.  West"  explained 
Ludlowe.  "It  was  just  about  to  start,  and  the  regular 
boat  had  not  finished  loading.  So  I  preferred  the  lesser 
accommodation  together  with  the  lesser  delay.  The  West 
docked  at  one  of  the  mills,  and  I  got  a  man  to  bring  me 
up  in  a  sort  of  tow-boat  affair." 

Gret  nodded ;  then  she  sat  down  on  the  top  step  of  the 
veranda  and  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees— clasped 
them  very  hard  and  tight. 

"Did  you  leave  all  quite  well  in  San  Francisco?"  she 
asked. 


GOOD-BY  357 

"Quite,  thank  you,  with  the  exception  of  Arthur.  He 
is  getting-  back  into  as  bad  a  shape  as  ever,"  repHed  Lud- 
lowe. 

"He  is  too  good ;  that  is  the  trouble  with  Arthur,"  said 
Gret. 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  Ludlowe,  smiling.  "It  certainly 
would  seem  as  if  nothing  sweet  or  good  could  flourish  on 
this  terrible  old  earth.  I  Ve  seen  that  fact  demonstrated 
before.    On  the  other  hand — " 

"Rank  weeds  grow  strong,"  concluded  Gret  drily. 

"Well,  something  like  that,"  agreed  Ludlowe  with  a 
slight  laugh. 

"Gret  is  always  so  forcible  in  her  modes  of  expression," 
observed  Mrs.  Silway  smiling,  and  rising  as  she  spoke. 
"If  you  '11  excuse  me,  major,  I  '11  just  see  about  your 
room." 

"No,  don't  trouble,  please,  Mrs.  Silway,"  said  Ludlowe 
quickly.  "I  '11  just  turn  in  with  one  of  the  boys  down  at 
the  mill.  I  return  to  Portland  to-morrow,  I  expect;  and 
I  have  so  many  messages  to  deliver  to  them.  So,  later  on, 
if  you  '11  excuse  me,  I  '11  go  down  there." 

"Why,  I  'm  sorry  you  can  only  pay  us  such  a  short 
visit,"  said  Mrs.  Silway  in  surprise,  pausing  and  looking 
questioningly  at  him. 

"Oh,  don't  call  it  a  visit,  Mrs.  Silway,"  replied  Lud- 
lowe.   "Just  a  call." 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  have  you  extend  the  call  a  little 
further,  then,"  persisted  Mrs.  Silway,  evidently  greatly 
puzzled.  "So  far  I  have  seen  nothing  of  you.  However, 
I  '11  leave  Gret  to  reason  with  you.  When  she  has  con- 
cluded her  arguments  I  hope  you  will  tell  me  you  have 
decided  to  stay— a  few  days,  at  all  events."  And  with  a 
bend  of  the  head  and  a  smile  Mrs.  Silway  went  indoors  to 
see  about  added  preparations  for  dinner. 

Gret  sat  still  on  the  step,  her  eyes  on  the  river,  taking 


358  GRET 

no  apparent  notice  of  her  mother's  words.  And  even 
when  Errol  drew  his  chair  a  Httle  nearer  to  her,  and 
threw  himself  back  into  it,  she  did  not  turn  her  head  until 
he  had  been  seated  fully  a  minute  in  waiting  silence. 
Then  she  glanced  quietly  at  him,  in  mute  expectancy  of 
his  opening  the  conversation,  which  he,  seeing  she  evi- 
dently had  no  intention,  finally  did. 

"Gret,  do  you  know  why  I  have  made  this  hurried  trip 
to  see  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  then  you  knew  when  that  letter  was  sent,  did  you  ?" 

Gret  smiled  grimly.  "No,  I  did  n't  know  at  the  time. 
I  knew  afterward." 

Ludlowe  took  the  letter  from  one  of  his  pockets,  un- 
folded it,  and  handed  it  quietly  to  her.  She  took  it, 
merely  because  he  seemed  to  wish  it,  and  not  that  she 
'wanted  to  see  so  evil  a  communication.  It  was  short,  al- 
most to  insolence. 

"Sir  :  Gret  Silway  is  my  wife.  If  you  don't  believe  me, 
you  can  see  the  records  in  the  Montyville  court-house. 

"Robin  Start." 

Gret  handed  back  the  letter  in  silence.  And  again  Lud- 
lowe waited  for  her  to  speak.  But  Gret  was  storing  her 
courage  to  answer  questions.  Herself  she  had  nothing  to 
say. 

"Is  it  true,  Gret  ?"  he  asked  then. 

"Yes,  it  's  true." 

There  was  another  silence,  and  Gret  could  feel  his  eyes 
rest  on  her  face.  To  the  west  long,  yellow  bars  were  rent 
in  the  gray,  and  the  amber  light  of  the  sunset  was  full 
upon  her.  And  Gret  was  glad  of  it.  The  kindly  coloring 
hid  the  waves  of  hot  red  that  chased  across  her  face. 

When  at  last  Errol  spoke  it  was  with  a  certain  finality, 


GOOD-BY  359 

like  one  who  has  turned  a  matter  over  in  his  mind  and 
reached  and  accepted  a  conclusion. 

"Well,  Gret,  if  you  yourself  had  n't  told  me  I  would 
never  have  believed  it.  In  my  eyes  your  sturdy  upright- 
ness was  one  of  your  main  charms.  How  could  I  have 
been  so  deceived  ?" 

Gret  made  no  reply.  It  seemed  to  her  there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  said.  But  she  unclasped  her  fingers  from  round 
her  knees,  and  resting  her  elbows  on  her  lap  as  she  bent 
forward,  buried  her  chin  in  her  hands. 

"Were  you  just  going  through  the  experience  of  being 
engaged  to  mc,  merely  for  the  fun  of  it?"  queried  Lud- 
lowe  then.  "Would  you  really  have  gone  through  the 
ceremony  of  marrying  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Gret  truthfully. 

"And  had  you  considered  what  it  would  mean  when 
the  truth  came  out,  as  it  inevitably  would  sooner  or  later, 
for  this  fellow  is  not  one  to  keep  quiet  ?"  asked  Ludlowe 
in  cold,  even  tones.  "Had  you  thought  of  the  disgrace 
you  would  bring  on  the  name  I  had  given  you  ?  Had  you 
no  thought  of  the  illegitimacy  of  your  children?" 

"No,"  answered  Gret  with  the  simple  earnestness  of 
truth.  "I  never  did  think  of  all  that.  I  just  thought  that 
if  I  were  willing  to  take  the  risk,  and  the  punishment  if 
it  came,  that  that  was  all  there  was  about  it.  I  did  n't 
think  that  kind  of  thing  ever  hurt  a  man.  I  did  n't  see  it 
in  the  way  you  put  it." 

"And  you  did  n't  mind  deceiving  me?"  queried  Lud- 
lowe. 

"I  did  n't  think  of  it  like  that,"  said  Gret  quickly.  "It 
was  just  my  secret— done  with  long  ago." 

"Long  ago?  When  was  it — when  were  you  married, 
then?" 

"Oh,  long  ago — when  we  were  both  kids,"  her  eyes 
growing  somber  in  the  twilight.    "It  was  one  of  Robin's 


360  GRET 

fool  ideas.  He  wanted  to  get  married— to  some  one,  any 
one— just  because  Jack  Gradel  had  got  married." 

"And  you?"  inquired  Ludlowe. 

"Oh,  father  was  trying  to  keep  me  in  the  house  about 
that  time,  and  I  thought  I  might  suddenly  need  a  home 
where  I  could  do  as  I  liked,"  explained  Gret.  Her  tone 
implied  that  she  was  not  trying  to  excuse  herself,  but 
since  he  asked  he  had  a  right  to  know. 

"And  did  you  ever  live  with  him,  this  Robin  ?" 

"Of  course  not!"  with  contempt.  "We  decided  that 
very  afternoon  that  it  was  all  foolishness,  and  that  we  'd 
forget  all  about  it.  And  so  we  did.  It  was  only  a  few 
words  spoken  to  us— nothing  more.  A  very  little  thing" 
— wistfully — "to  spoil  three  lives." 

"A  big  enough  thing  to  turn  right  into  wrong,"  ob- 
served Ludlowe. 

"So  I  see." 

"Why,  when  you  decided  that  nothing  could  come  of 
such  a  marriage,  did  n't  you  get  a  divorce  and  ando  the 
thing  properly?"  asked  Ludlowe. 

Gret  smiled  faintly.  "I  did  n't  know  anything  about 
divorces,  or  how  to  get  them.  Besides— I  never  thought 
anything  about  it  one  way  or  another.  Robin  did  n't 
bother  me.  Most  of  the  time  I  forgot  all  about  him. 
And  then,  when  you  spoke,  I  was  afraid  to  stir  things  up 
for  fear—"  She  paused,  and  then  her  lips  closed  to- 
gether. What  her  fears  were  was  sufficiently  obvious  to 
both. 

"But  you  took  such  odds,"  went  on  Ludlowe  after  a 
moment,  crumpling  the  letter  in  his  fingers.  "H  you  had 
even  shared  your  secret  with  a  man.    But  this  fellow—" 

"Oh,  he  would  never  have  bothered  me  if  I  had  n't  in- 
terfered with  him,"  said  Gret  with  quiet  confidence. 

"And  why  did  you  interfere  with  him?" 

"He  was  going  to  marry  Eva." 


GOOD-BY  361 

"Oh!"  There  was  a  volume  of  comprehension  in  the 
syllable.  Then  Ludlowe  was  silent  a  moment,  considering 
this  new  aspect  of  the  case.  "And  so,"  he  said  then,  "you 
could  n't  allow  that?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

"You  could  see  the  terrible  wrong  it  would  be  to  her," 
continued  Ludlowe.  "But  you  could  n't  see  any  wrong 
to  me." 

She  gave  him  one  glance.  Her  eyes  were  so  wide  and 
bright  with  pain  that  it  was  like  a  bronze  gleam  of  light. 
"I  have  told  you  that  I  did  n't  see  it  that  way.  Until  this 
came  up  about  Eva  I  never  did  see  things  as— as  they  are. 
I  thought  it  was  just  my  risk.  I  never  wanted  to  hurt 
you;  you  must  know  that.  And,  anyway,  after  I  had 
married  you,  I  should  have  understood  better.  And  I 
would  have  killed  Robin  with  my  own  hands  before  you 
should  have  known." 

There  was  no  bravado  in  the  quiet  laden  tones,  and 
Ludlowe  knew  that.  He  looked  in  a  puzzled  way  at  the 
girl  sitting  near  him.  He  could  not  altogether  feel  that 
she  was  an  adventuress  unmasked.  There  was  a  certain 
sad  dignity  about  her  that  would  not  be  dispelled.  She 
was  a  strange  creature. 

"Why  were  you  so  determined  to  take  the  risk,  Gret?" 
he  asked  then.  "I  did  n't  think  you  cared  for  money  or 
position." 

"I  don't— for  either,"  shortly. 

"And  yet  you  were  prepared  to  risk  a  great  deal  for 
them,"  ironically. 

Gret  fidgeted  on  the  step.  How  dense  men  were.  As 
if  she  would  risk  anything  for  money!  A  wave  of  bit- 
terness and  exasperation  passed  over  her,  and  she  forgot 
herself  for  a  second.  "Oh,  you  make  me  tired !"  she  said 
sharply. 

There  was  a  cry  in  her  voice  that  she  did  not  know  of, 


362  GRET 

the  cry  of  a  woman  hurt  past  all  enduring.  Ludlowe 
caught  the  sound  of  it,  and  when  he  spoke  again  it  was 
more  gently. 

"Shall  you  ever  try  to  live  with  this  man  ?" 

Gret  laughed.    "I  think  not.    He  's  dead." 

Ludlowe  started  violently.  He  sat  upright  in  the  chair, 
all  the  veiled  indifference  characteristic  of  his  manner 
gone. 

"Gret!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice.  "What  do  you 
mean  ?    You  don't  mean  that  you—" 

Gret  thought  for  a  moment.  She  had  a  great  mind 
to  tell  him  the  truth,  just  to  see  if  she  could  be  hurt  any 
more.  But  the  impulse  passed.  It  would  do  no  good, 
and  her  love  was  disgraced  enough  as  it  was. 

"He  fell  out  of  the  boat,  and  was  carried  in  under  the 
Jam,"  she  explained  then  with  an  air  of  finality. 

Ludlowe's  lips  parted  to  speak,  but  he  paused.  It 
needed  quite  an  effort  to  master  the  impulse  to  question,  to 
know  the  truth.  But  he  reflected  that  it  was  better  not 
to  seek  to  know.  If  she  had  any  secret  it  was  better  hers. 
It  was  better  none  should  share  it. 

He  sat  and  looked  at  the  girl  in  a  half -troubled  way. 
The  small,  pale  face  and  wide  eyes  were  full  of  a  sort  of 
proud,  subdued  tragedy.  He  was  terribly  shocked  at 
what  she  would  have  done— at  what  she  had  done;  his 
confidence  in  her  was  destroyed ;  but  there  was  still  some- 
thing about  her  that  defied  his  scorn  and  kept  alive  that 
strong  feeling  of  comradeship  and  affection  that  he  had 
for  her. 

"If  he  had  managed  to  fall  out  of  his  boat  earlier,  it 
would  have  been  better  for  all  concerned,"  he  said  at  last, 
with  an  air  of  extreme  discontent.  "As  it  is,  I  feel  that, 
though  removed,  he  has  come  between  us  irrevocably.  I 
could  never  forget  what  you  would  have  done.  I  should 
be  afraid—" 


GOOD-BY  363 

But  Gret  would  not  listen.  She  sat  upright  and  held 
up  her  hand  commandingly. 

"No,  no !  That  is  all  ended.  No  need  to  talk  about  it. 
It  was  ended  before  you  came.  We  have  said  all  we 
need  say  now.    I  suppose  you  never  will  know — " 

She  clasped  her  hands  together  in  her  lap.  She  was 
trying  hard  to  dispel  the  apathy  that  was  descending  on 
her— the  apathy  born  of  completion  and  despair.  Soon, 
in  an  hour  or  two  now,  he  would  be  gone,  and  all  would 
be  over,  and  she  would  face  the  long  To-morrow. 

But  if,  before  he  went,  she  could  only  make  one  great 
effort  to  vindicate  her  love  and  what  she  had  been  will- 
ing to  risk  for  it,  then,  though  her  loss  would  still  be  as 
great,  her  humiliation  would  be  less.  Never  before  had 
Gret  been  conscious  of  the  laconic  habit  that  was  part  of 
her  nature.  If  she  could  be  given,  for  only  just  a  few 
minutes,  the  power  of  fluent  speech,  the  silvery  tongue, 
that  belonged  to  some,  then  she  could  show  him —what 
in  her  heart  she  knew  so  well — how  much  the  viewpoint 
in  a  case  counts,  and  how,  though  no  man  can  sin  against 
himself  and  not  know  it,  yet  in  dealing  with  his  fellow 
no  one  law  levels  the  workings  of  divers  minds. 

She  looked  up  at  him  suddenly,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
She  knew  she  could  never  say  half  she  meant,  but  for  the 
sake  of  that  long,  reproachful  To-morrow  she  would  try. 

"If  I  could  only  make  you  see,  before  you  go,  how  I 
look  at  things !"  she  said  wistfully.  "Not  that  it  matters 
now,  only— just  so  that  you  '11  know,  and  so  that  I  '11 
know  that  you  know.  But,  you  see,  I  think  more  than  I 
can  say;  I  mean,  I  can't  express  my  thoughts  or  the 
things  I  understand  way  down  in  myself." 

Ludlowe  watched  her  attentively,  and  Gret  turned  her 
head  back  to  the  river  so  that  the  sight  of  his  face  should 
not  come  between  her  and  her  thoughts. 

"I  know  you  think  I  ought  to  feel  like  a  woman  that 


364  GRET 

has  tried  to  do  a  very  wicked  thing  and  been  found  out ; 
but  I  don't.  I  'm  not  sorry  for  anything  I  've  done.  If  I 
had  to  live  my  life  over  again,  and  knew  no  more  each 
day  than  I  did,  I  should  do  the  same  things  over  again. 
It  seems  to  me  it  's  the  right  thing  to  succeed,  to  keep 
going  on  somewhere,  if  one  can;  and  there  's  generally 
only  one  way  at  a  time  to  do  that.  Now,  I  've  done  lots 
of  things  that  are  not  right— not  called  right.  Things 
that  I  see  people  on  the  stage  and  in  books  breaking 
themselves  all  up  over.  But  those  things  don't  bother 
me.  They  were  the  best  things  I  could  see  to  do  at  the 
time,  and  I  did  them.  I  always  have  done  that.  I  always 
saw  ahead  of  me  what  I  wanted,  and  I  went  after  it,'  a 
day  at  a  time.  I  never  gave  up  because  I  was  afraid.  It 
is  a  poor  Indian  that  does  that.  And  that  is  why,  when 
you  asked  me  to  be  your  wife," —  her  voice  lowered  to 
tones  so  soft,  so  rich,  that  they  fell  on  the  still  air  like 
lingering  music— "if  I  had  had  to  die  a  hundred  deaths  to 
pay  for  just  one  year,  I  would  have  come !" 

Her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  her  eyes  shone  in 
beauty;  and  Ludlowe  was  held  still;  for  a  power  eman- 
ated from  this  slim,  erring  girl  that  he  could  not  refute : 
the  power  of  those  who  live,  without  hesitation  and  with- 
out fear,  up  to  their  ruling  convictions,  even  though  they 
be  mistaken. 

After  a  moment  he  moved  as  if  to  cast  off  her  spell. 
His  intellect  rebelled  against  being  carried  so  resistlessly 
past  every  known  buoy. 

"You  are  not  consistent,  Gret,"  he  said.  "If  you  fol- 
low so  ruthlessly  after  your  desires,  how  do  you  come, 
of  your  own  doing,  to  lose  so  much  that  you  had  gained?" 

"There  are  some  things  that  we  don't  do,"  she  replied 
gently.  "And  we  always  know  what  they  are  when  we 
come  to  them." 

Lights  began  to  appear  in  the  house  behind  them,  and 


GOOD-BY  365 

Gret  jumped  up.  Ludlowe  rose,  too,  and  she  stood  a 
moment  before  him,  her  eyes  wandering  slowly  over  his 
face. 

"I  will  explain  to  mother  before  you  come  in— enough, 
so  that  she  will  understand,"  she  said.  But  still  she 
stood,  looking  at  him  with  yearning,  searching  eyes. 
Then  she  turned  to  go ;  yet  stayed  one  moment.  Her 
head  was  thrown  back,  and  her  eyes  full  of  a  sad,  scorn- 
ful light ;  and  she  spoke  as  if  comforting  herself. 

"There  used  to  be  an  old  Indian — Jim— who  trapped  for 
Murray.  He  taught  me  many  things.  'Always  try  for 
big  game,'  he  said."  And  she  held  her  hand  above  her 
head  in  quaint  illustration.  "  'Often  get  him.  Good ! 
Got  something  then.  Sometimes,' "  and  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  true  Indian  style,  "  'not  get  him.  Pay  big 
price  then.'  "  She  laughed—  a  laugh  of  real  amusement, 
and  yet  so  ironic  and  so  bitter  that  it  was  sadder  than  a 
week  of  tears.  "Well,  I  've  tried,  and  I  've  failed;  but 
I  'm  not  sorry.  One  must  have  a  rule  to  live  up  to,  and 
all  rules  fail  sometimes." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   LONG  TO-MORROW 

WHEN  first  Gret  turned  toward  that  future  whose 
somber  face  she  dreaded  to  scan,  she  was  afraid 
most  of  all  of  herself.  A  period  of  apathy,  of  inactivity, 
lay  before  her ;  for  something  had  gone  out  of  her— some 
energy,  poise,  buoyancy — it  could  not  be  said  what,  that 
before  had  made  life  one  long  delight.  At  first  she  la- 
bored valiantly  to  forget.  She  went  often  down  to  the 
Harbor,  just  for  the  mere  movement  of  rowing;  she  went 
down  to  the  mill,  and  up  to  the  camp.  And  she  instituted 
herself  chief  guide  to  Bobbie  and  his  two  San  Francisco 
friends  in  their  hunting  expeditions. 

This  last  proved,  for  a  time,  a  successful  diversion. 
Finding  that  one  of  the  young  San  Franciscans  was  a 
hunter  of  almost  world-wide  experience,  and  still  wider 
conceit  in  his  own  proficiency,  Gret  expended  much  time 
and  thought  laying  traps,  into  which  the  experienced 
hunter  fell  with  distressing  regularity.  Not  for  nothing 
had  Gret  been  instructed  in  woodcraft  and  animal-craft 
by  such  men  as  old  Murray  and  Indian  Jim— a  fact  which 
Bobbie  was  at  pains  to  point  out  one  night  to  the  still  un- 
suspecting victim  of  her  humor.  It  took  the  victim  a  little 
time  fully  to  realize  that  Gret  was  one  too  many  for  him, 
even  on  his  own  grounds  of  hunting;  but  when  realiza- 
tion came  he  grew  cautious,  whereupon  the  pleasures  of 
the  chase— after  the  hunter— palled  on  Gret  and  she  was 
forced  to  seek  other  diversions. 

Striving  to  keep  away  from  her  own  thoughts,  Gret 

366 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  367 

lived  more  than  ever  in  the  lives  of  others.  And  for  this 
reason,  perhaps  sooner  than  she  otherwise  might,  Gret 
discovered  that  a  spirit  of  discontent— or  it  might  be 
only  exaggerated  restlessness— was  creeping  abroad  in 
the  camp.  There  were  some  days  when  Gret  could  not 
face  the  camp  and  the  chatter  and  jocularity  of  the  boys; 
but  when  she  did  go  among  them  she  took  care  to  be  noth- 
ing but  her  old  self,  alive  as  she  always  had  been  to  their 
interests  and  aspirations.  And  in  this  way,  earlier  than 
any  one  else,  she  became  aware  of  the  inception  of  that 
insidious  foe  to  camp-bosses  and  successful  work — dis- 
content. It  was  very  vague  as  yet,  merely  a  chafing 
against  the  deadly  monotony  of  winter  life  in  a  camp; 
but  it  was  the  beginning  of  worse  things,  and  the  dawn  of 
her  discovery  came  to  Gret  one  morning  as  she  stopped 
to  talk  to  Chester  at  the  head  of  the  slough. 

Chester  was  sitting  by  the  quiet,  but  gently  simmering 
donkey,  and  he  was  looking  decidedly  dull.  His  face 
brightened  when  he  saw  Gret,  and  for  that  reason  she  sat 
down  a  while  on  the  truck  of  the  engine,  and  gossiped 
with  him. 

Presently  she  went  on  her  way  up  to  the  camp.  But 
she  was  thinking  as  she  went.  She  would  go  in  and  con- 
sult the  old  reliable  Jake  as  to  the  impression  that  was 
taking  shape  in  her  mind.  In  him  she  found  instant  and 
alarming  confirmation. 

"Why,  'course  they  're  getting  discontented.  Did  n't 
you  know  that  before?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  replied  Gret  earnestly.  "What 
makes  you  think  so,  Jake  ?" 

"Oh,  can  easy  tell.  I  expect  it  's  because  they  got 
kinder  done  out  of  their  Christmas  doings,"  said  Jake 
thoughtfully.  "They  're  beginning  to  kick  on  everything. 
Said  yesterday  that  the  yellow  of  my  cakes  was  n't  all 
eggs." 


368  GRET 

Gret  laughed  outright.  "I  told  you  it  was  too  yellow 
to  look  natural." 

"Well,  heavens  and  earth !"  said  Jake,  exasperated.  "It 
would  take  two  dozen  eggs  to  make  a  cake  look  that  yel- 
low, and  how  do  you  suppose  I  'm  going  to  get  eggs  like 
that?" 

"I  know  you  could  n't.  And  so  do  they,"  responded 
Gret  promptly;  "but  you  put  some  eggs  in,  did  n't 
you  ?" 

"Course ;  quite  enough  to  make  the  cake  good." 

"Well,  then,  why  did  n't  you  let  it  go  at  that  ?  Or,  if 
you  wanted  to,  put  the  least  Httle  bit  of  coloring  in?" 

"Oh,  well,  now,  I  've  been  cooking  for  these  logger 
fellows  for  years,  and  I  guess  I  know  them  from  A  to  Z," 
said  Jake  with  cold  dignity.  "If  it  was  the  best  cake  on 
earth,  and  was  n't  a  blazing  yellow,  they  'd  imagine  it 
did  n't  taste  good.  They  just  wanted  something  to  kick 
at,  and  the  cake  was  as  good  as  anything  else  to  row 
over.  They  're  getting  discontented,  pining  for  a  racket 
of  some  kind.  And  they  '11  have  all  they  want,"  con- 
cluded Jake  ominously,  "if  they  get  trying  any  of  their 
monkey-shines  on  me." 

"It  's  foolish  to  talk  like  that,  Jakey,"  said  Gret,  the 
manager  of  men.  "It  would  n't  do  any  good  anywhere. 
It  's  just  as  you  say,  the  boys  are  getting  dull  and  twisty. 
You  see,  the  dance  and  doings  they  generally  have  at 
Christmas  turns  the  year  for  them,  and  makes  them  feel 
like  starting  a  new  one.  As  it  is,  they  've  had  a  long,  dull 
stretch.  I  'm  not  at  all  surprised  they  get  cranky  once  in 
a  while." 

"Well,  what  about  me?"  demanded  Jake.  "Ain't  it 
just  as  dull  for  me  ?" 

"Of  course.  And  you  're  getting  as  cranky  as  the  rest 
of  them." 

Jake  looked   cross   for  a  moment,   and  then   smiled. 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  369 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  inquired 
jestingly. 

But  Gret  sat  considering.  She  was  not  going  to  pass 
the  matter  as  a  jest.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  valuable  as 
a  subject  to  keep  her  from  considering  her  own  case ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  it  was  an  important  matter  on  its  own 
merits.  It  did  not  do  to  let  a  spirit  of  discontent  get  a 
start  in  a  camp.  The  most  restless  would  begin  to  leave, 
and  nothing  was  more  infectious  than  the  quitting  mania. 
That  meant  a  camp-load  of  new  men,  the  thoughts  of 
which  Gret  greatly  disliked.  She  rather  wondered  that 
Dick  had  not  noticed  the  change  in  the  mood  of  the  men. 
But  he  was  always  so  busy.  Among  other  things,  Gret 
made  up  her  mind  to  call  his  attention  to  existing  shad- 
ows, lest  they  be  cast  before  more  genuine  difficulties. 
And  in  the  meantime  she  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  a 
means  to  help  matters  herself,  conscious  that  the  whole 
question  centered  about  the  providing  of  some  excite- 
ment to  break  the  monotony  of  life. 

"Any  kind  of  doings,  almost,  would  give  the  boys 
something  to  talk  about  and  help  them  on  toward  the 
summer,  would  n't  it?"  said  Gret  thoughtfully  after  a 
while. 

"Most  Hkely.  But  there  's  no  holidays— nothing  that  I 
can  think  of  between  now  and  Decoration  Day,"  repHed 
Jake.  "And  that 's  not  much  to  them.  Still,  it 's  a  holiday." 

"Oh,  goodness!"  Gret  laughed.  "Might  as  well  not 
think  of  that  at  all.  No— but  could  n't  we  get  up  some- 
thing ourselves?  Has  n't  anybody  got  a  birthday?  We 
could  get  up  a  surprise  or  something.  That  would  be 
better  than  nothing."  ' 

"Hum,"  nodded  Jake,  beginning  to  take  a  business  view 
of  matters.  "Yes,  s'pose  we  might  do  something  like 
that.  And  have  a  keg  of  beer  and  some  red.  They 
would  n't  care  for  it  without." 

24 


370  GRET 

"Oh,  of  course."  Gret  looked  with  wise,  meditative 
eyes  down  the  great  canon.  "I  'd  only  stay  for  supper 
and  maybe  a  little  while  after,  so  that  the  boys  could  get 
in  and  have  a  real  good  time  and  get  themselves  under 
the  table.  Then  if  they  have  an  awful  headache  the  next 
morning  they  'l\  think  they  never  had  such  a  glorious 
time  in  all  their  lives." 

"That 's  right,"  corroborated  Jake  promptly. 

"Well,  can  you  think  of  a  birthday?"  inquired  Gret. 

"Nope ;  not  among  our  old  hands." 

"How  would  it  be  for  one  half  of  the  camp  to  surprise 
the  other?" 

"Could  n't  be  done,"  said  Jake.  "Could  n't  keep  it 
from  'em." 

"Well,  let  's  surprise  Dick,  then!"  decided  Gret. 
"Never  mind  about  any  birthday.  He  'd  be  very  easy  to 
surprise,  because  he  always  goes  into  his  cabin  quite  early. 
Yes,  let  's  do  that !"  Her  mind  quickly  began  to  arrange 
details.    "We  '11  have  a  fine  supper,  Jake." 

"You  bet !"  responded  Jake,  closing  his  eyes  in  profes- 
sional fervor,  apparently  forgetting  that  he  was  pre- 
paring a  big  dose  of  extra  work  for  himself.  "The  boys 
would  give  fifty  cents  or  a  dollar  apiece,  I  know." 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  Jake,"  said  Gret,  thoughtfully. 
"If  it  can  be  helped,  I  'd  rather  the  boys  would  n't  have 
to  do  anything  like  that.  I  'm  going  down  to  the  mill. 
The  camp  's  been  pretty  good  to  the  mill  now  and  again, 
and  I  'm  sure  they  'd  like  to  help  this  scheme  out.  If 
they  '11  give  the  wine  and  beer,  I  '11  do  the  rest  myself." 

"I  '11  give  five  dollars,"  said  Jake. 

"All  right,  Jakey."  Gret  got  up  with  her  usual  energy. 
"I  '11  go  straight  down  to  the  mill  now.  And,  Jakey,  you 
think  of  all  the  things  you  '11  want  while  I  'm  gone,  will 
you?  Let 's  have  boiled  ham,  and  cake— real  eggs."  This 
last  over  her  shoulder  with  a  little  chuckle  of  laughter. 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  371 

Jake  took  this  sally  good-temperedly ;  and  as  Gret  went 
leaping  and  swaying  off  down  the  skid-road  he  began, 
still  peeling  apples,  to  prepare  a  mental  supper  menu  and 
list  of  what  would  be  required  therefor. 

As  Gret  had  predicted,  the  idea  was  received  at  the 
mill  with  great  acclaim. 

"It  '11  be  a  great  thing  for  you  fellows  to  see,"  observed 
Bobbie  to  his  friends,  as  the  three  young  men  stood  in  a 
semi-circle  round  Gret. 

"Must  n't  let  them  think,  though,  that  you  've  come  to 
look  them  over,"  said  Gret  quickly.  "Or  else  you  '11  very 
likely  see  more  than  you  bargained  for." 

"Of  course  not !"  responded  Bobbie  promptly,  replying 
for  the  three.  "Most  of  those  fellows  up  there  are  all 
right.  They  've  all  been  first-rate  to  me.  Who  's  going 
to  stand  the  whack  ?"  he  inquired  then. 

"Well— I  don't  know  altogether— yet,"  answered  Gret 
deliberately.  "I  'm  going  to  stand  good  for  the  supper 
myself." 

"Well,  we  '11  stand  for  the  liquor  part  of  the  business," 
said  Bobbie,  chuckling.    "When  's  it  coming  off?" 

Gret  paused,  having  forgotten  to  discuss  that  point 
with  Jake.  "It  must  be  on  Saturday,  because  of  the  head- 
aches all  Sunday.  Next  Saturday !"  with  a  decisive  nod 
of  the  head. 

"All  right !  We  '11  get  the  elixir  up  here  Friday  after- 
noon by  the  Transfer/'  said  Bobbie  with  satisfaction. 
"How  are  we  going  to  get  it  up  to  the  camp  without  Dick 
seeing  it  ?" 

"You  get  it  here,  and  I  '11  talk  to  Chester  and  Oly,"  said 
Gret.  "They  '11  find  some  way  of  getting  it  up  to  the 
camp  after  dark  Saturday.  And,  say,  it  's  Wednesday 
now.  Jake  's  just  got  to  cook  like  fun  between  now  and 
Saturday,  and  so  he  '11  have  to  have  his  supplies  this 
afternoon.    I  'm  going  to  get  a  list  of  what  he  needs,  and 


372  GRET 

don't  you  boys  feel  like  getting  out  the  launch  and  taking 
me  down  to  Quellish  ?" 

"You  bet !"  said  Bobbie.  "Boys !"— with  a  wave  of  the 
hand— "Untie  the  shoo-shoo  boat." 

Gret  laughed  and  looked  Bobbie  over  with  amused, 
kindly  eyes  as  he  stood  in  characteristic  pose  before  her, 
which  was  hands  in  pocket  and  feet  about  a  yard  apart  on 
the  mossy  slope.  There  was  as  much  easy  understanding 
and  familiarity  between  Gret  and  Bobbie  as  if  they  had 
been  brother  and  sister.  Indeed,  quite  as  much  under- 
standing as  Gret  was  ever  likely  to  have  accorded  a  real 
brother,  had  she  possessed  one. 

"I  won't  be  more  than  half  an  hour,"  she  said.  "We  '11 
bring  all  the  stuff  up  here  to  the  mill,  and  then  to-night 
the  mill  boys  can  help  carry  it  up  to  the  kitchen.  You  go 
and  get  ready.    I  '11  hurry."   .And  she  sped  away. 

Jake  was  rather  horrified  at  the  slight  margin  of  time 
allowed  in  view  of  the  cooking  to  be  done.  Still,  he  was 
decidedly  infected  with  the  general  enthusiasm,  and  so 
he  compounded  a  long  list  of  requirements,  all  of  which 
Gret  promised  should  be  in  his  kitchen  that  evening. 

And  so  they  were.  Most  impetuous  and  .enthusiastic 
was  the  shopping  done  by  the  four  young  folk.  Quel- 
lish was  turned  upside  down  and  ransacked  over.  And 
when  the  victorious  shoppers  turned  the  surprisingly 
docile  gasolene  launch  back  up  the  Wishkah,  they  had  suc- 
ceeded in  collecting  all  Jake's  requirements,  and  various 
additions  of  their  own.  In  the  stern  of  the  boat  lay  three 
of  the  finest  hams  to  be  unearthed  in  the  Harbor,  a  tongue, 
bananas,  nuts,  raisins,  essences,  chocolate,  and  many 
other  things.  Among  the  additions  to  the  original  list 
were  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  pickles  and  a  sack  of 
oranges.  All  these  things,  as  suggested  by  Gret,  were 
deposited  for  the  time  being  in  the  mill.  And  that  night 
a  giggling,  heavily  laden  line  of  shadowy  figures  might 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  373 

have  been  seen  straggling  up  the  board  walk  and  cau- 
tiously approaching  the  camp.  Bessemer,  all  unaccus- 
tomed to  prowling  in  the  brush  by  night,  caught  his  foot 
in  a  tangled  growth  around  the  path  by  the  skid-road  and 
went  sprawling  full  length,  preceded  by  an  avalanche  of 
oranges.  Gret  was  overcome  with  mirth  and  leaned 
against  the  skid,  grasping  tightly  a  bag  of  bananas,  while 
Bobbie  and  Van  Cuyn  applied  anything  but  endearing 
epithets  to  the  fallen  one.  By  the  aid  of  matches  the 
greater  part  of  the  oranges  were  gathered  up,  however, 
and  the  cavalcade  started  again,  arriving,  after  much 
scouting  and  due  precautions,  safely  in  Jake's  kitchen. 

The  next  days  were  very  busy  ones  for  Gret,  her  in- 
dustry proceeding  along  altogether  unprecedented  lines. 
She  cracked  and  chopped  nuts,  sliced  bananas,  beat  eggs, 
and  generally  constituted  herself  Jake's  right  hand.  She 
also  found  time  to  acquaint  quite  a  few  of  the  men  with 
the  scheme  in  hand,  bidding  them  spread  the  news 
abroad.  But  to  Chester  and  Oly  alone  she  deputed  the 
task  of  getting  the  beer  and  wine  into  the  camp  after 
dinner  on  Saturday  night. 

As  might  be  supposed,  when  the  fateful  evening  ar- 
rived Dick  was  unusually  late  retiring  to  the  books  and 
studies  he  had  adopted  of  late  years.  He  sat  in  the  men's 
hall  and  smoked  and  chatted,  and  generally  lingered 
about  so  unconscionably  that  the  nerves  of  the  waiting 
men  were"  all  on  edge.  He  might,  if  he  had  been  on  the 
lookout  for  anything  of  the  kind,  have  noticed  a  certain 
lack  of  spontaneity  and  cordiality;  but,  not  suspecting 
anything  of  the  sort,  he  did  not.  Finally,  however,  he 
did  retire  to  the  cabin  that  was  one  of 'the  few  tokens  of 
his  superior  office,  and  then  subdued  excitement  filled  the 
air.  Chester  and  Oly  rushed  two  wheelbarrows  into  the 
kitchen,  laden  with  precious  liquid,  and  Bobbie,  aided  by 
his  chums,  proceeded  to  tap  the  keg  and  fill  jugs  of  beer. 


374  GRET 

while  Chester  and  Oly  filled  corresponding  jugs  of  wine. 
Charlie  and  Joe  and  Gret  rushed  into  the  dining-room 
and  whisked  off  the  syrup,  sugar  bowls,  pickles  and  vari- 
ous condiments  usually  standing  in  broken  lines  up  the 
middle  of  the  long  tables,  and  spread  over  them  table- 
cloths and  sheets  borrowed  from  Lizzie  for  the  occasion. 
Gret  had  big  jars  of  wild  grape  and  fern  ready,  which 
were  placed  at  intervals  up  the  center  of  the  tables ;  then 
came  cakes— banana,  cream,  chocolate,  lemon,  nut,  and 
raisin— really  fine  examples  of  the  baker's  art,  for  Jake 
could  certainly  cook  when  he  chose ;  heaped-up  dishes  of 
cut  ham  and  tongue,  rye  and  white  bread,  pickles,  fruit, 
and  last,  but  by  no  means  least,  big  jugs  of  alternate  beer 
and  wine. 

When  all  was  complete  the  tables  really  looked  very 
nice,  and  Gret  regarded  them  with  much  more  admiration 
that  ever  she  had  accorded  the  banquet  tables  of  San 
Francisco.  As  a  last  touch,  every  lamp  in  the  camp  was 
ranged  about  the  walls  of  the  dining-room,  which  pre- 
sented a  most  brilliant  interior. 

Then  the  word  went  round  like  a  thrill  of  electricity 
that  all  was  ready;  and  groups  that  had  gathered  noise- 
lessly round  lighted  doorways,  only  to  melt  into  darkness 
at  the  least  unusual  sound,  quickly  conglomerated  into 
one  big  crowd  round  Dick's  cabin. 

Suddenly,  at  a  given  signal,  pandemonium  broke  loose ; 
tin  pans  were  beaten  and  the  air  was  filled  with  yells.  The 
cabin  door  flew  open,  and  the  amazed  figure  of  the  fore- 
man stood  on  the  lighted  threshold.  At  first  it  almost 
seemed  to  him  that  a  riot  was  on;  but  then  out  of  the 
darkness  came  Gret's  bubble  of  glee  and  Bobbie's  drawl, 
singing  "we  won't  go  home  till  morning,"  and  he  knew 
that,  whatever  it  was,  it  was  all  right.  Then  Bobbie 
darted  forward  and  seized  one  arm  and  Gret  clutched  the 
other,  and,  with  the  whole  camp  bustling  gleefully  along 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW         375 

behind,  he  was  escorted  to  his  chair  at  the  head  of  the 
long  table. 

Dick's  amazement  at  the  sight  of  the  dining-room  was 
immense  and  unfeigned,  and  added  the  last  item  to  the 
general  sum  of  satisfaction.  Gret  sat  on  his  right  hand 
and  Bobbie  on  the  left,  and  on  either  side  these  two  sat 
the  greatly  edified  Bessemer  and  Van  Cuyn.  From  them 
on  either  side  ranged  long  rows  of  broadly  smiling  faces, 
many  of  them  familiar  to  Dick  for  years,  though  some,  of 
course,  comparatively  strange  and  new. 

Whatever  the  lumberman  does  he  does  with  all  his 
might,  and  when  it  comes  to  enjoying  himself  he  certainly 
makes  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Supper  began  with  an 
abandon  and  gusto  that  came  as  a  revelation  to  the  young 
society  men,  who  had  probably  hitherto  prided  themselves 
on  knowing  about  all  there  was  to  know  of  the  art  of 
having  a  good  time.  Cakes  melted  into  thin  air,  dishes 
became  suddenly  empty,  and  beer  and  wine  were  emptied 
down  capacious  throats.  Then  the  gift  of  tongues  de- 
scended on  the  jolly  woodsmen,  and  they  spoke  with 
many  voices. 

Gret  sat  enjoying  it  all  and  taking  everything  in.  As 
the  fun  and  noise  increased  she  reluctantly  made  up  her 
mind  to  go,  but  still  sat  on  a  few  minutes  longer.  Then, 
she  noticed  that  Dick  cast  an  apprehensive  glance  at  her. 
In  all  her  familiarity  with  the  camp  hands  Dick  had 
never  tolerated  for  her,  and  Gret  had  never  had  to  put  up 
with,  any  loose  talk.  Many  of  the  men  here  Dick  knew ; 
some  he  did  not.  Each  would  have  his  tongue  loosened 
now  to  whatever  extent  his  nature  prompted,  and  Gret 
was  the  only  woman  present.  Gret  smiled  reassuringly 
at  him  and  rose. 

"Well,  I  must  go,"  she  observed  to  those  near  her. 

Bobbie  caught  the  words  and  shot  onto  his  feet.  He 
brandished  a  glass  of  wine.    "Boys,  Gret  has  to  go.    Be- 


376  GRET 

fore  she  does  so,  let  us  toast  the  man  in  whose  honor  the 
feed  is  given.  Here  's  to  Dick  Swinton,  our  boss,  the 
finest  boss  and  the  best  fellow  you  boys  will  ever  meet !" 

Chorus  of  "You  bet  your  life!"  "That  's  right,  too!" 
"Hurrah !"  and  much  enthusiastic  drinking. 

"And  now,  boys,"  went  on  Bobbie,  with  an  elaborate 
bow  to  the  girl  standing  opposite  him.  "Let  us  fill  up  and 
toast  Miss  Gret  Silway,  who  instituted  this  most  pleasant 
proceeding." 

The  men  yelled  themselves  hoarse  once  more,  and  in 
the  height  of  the  excitement  Chester  arose  in  would-be 
stately  manner.  He  held  a  glass  aloft.  "Here  's  to  Gret, 
the  Angel  of  Silway's  camp !" 

"Aw — w,  go  on !  Angel !"  Oly  stood  up  in  disgust. 
"What  kind  of  dime  novel  talk  are  you  giving  us?"  He 
held  up  his  glass,  a  tumbler  full  of  red  wine.  "Here  's 
to  Gret,  not  much  of  an  angel,  but  all  right  just  the 
same !" 

The  Calif ornians  screeched  with  mirth,  and  even  Dick 
laughed  uproariously.  Gret,  too,  nearly  cried  with  laugh- 
ter. Oly's  serious  manner  and  deep  and  real  disgust  at 
what  he  considered  a  most  abjectly  inappropriate  epithet 
appealed  to  her  especially.  Many  voices  now  were  clam- 
oring for  speeches.  Dick  got  up  and  replied  briefly  in  the 
genial,  easy  way  that  came  of  long  handling  of  the  ma- 
terial about  him.  He  was  loudly  applauded,  and  then 
Gret  was  called  upon.  She  looked  amused  at  the  idea; 
but  for  the  time  being  she  was  completely  carried  out  of 
herself,  and  she  rose  and  faced  the  men  with  eyes  darting 
gleams  of  laughter  and  lips  that  would  hardly  keep 
straight. 

"Why,  I  could  n't  make  a  speech  to  save  my  life !"  she 
declared.  "But  you  boys  know  me  and  what  's  in  my 
mind.  I  'm  not  much  of  an  angel,  as  Oly  says.  If  I  were 
I  would  n't  be  one  of  Silway 's  camp.    But  I  am  one  of 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  377 

the  camp,  and  shall  be  as  long  as  I  can  remember  it  wher- 
ever I  may  be.  I  suppose  things  won't  go  on  as  they  are 
forever.  Changes  are  sure  to  come.  But  I  hope  they 
will  go  on  long  enough  for  us  to  have  a  few  more  times 
like  this,  with  just  the  same  old  faces  round  and  me  here 
to  every  last  time." 

"Well  done !"  commended  Bobbie,  amidst  ear-splitting 
shouts  and  terrific  thumping  of  floor  and  tables.  And 
then  Gret  bethought  herself  of  something,  and  her  clear, 
incisive  tones  were  heard  again. 

"Now,  boys,  toast  our  good  old  Jakey,  who  has  cooked 
himself  to  a  cinder  making  all  these  fine  things." 

More  deafening  shouts,  and  much  perilous  waving  of 
glasses,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  abashed  Jake  mur- 
mured, all  unheard,  "Oh,  pshaw!"  And  then,  very 
quickly,  before  any  one  could  move  to  accompany  her, 
Gret  slipped  out  and  away  into  the  whispering  darkness. 

She  went  easily  along  the  board-walk,  shining  wet  and 
clear  in  the  starlight,  and  got  into  one  of  the  boats  rock- 
ing softly  about  the  landing.  And  then  she  gave  a  long 
sigh,  and  sat  for  many  minutes  gazing  into  the  darkly- 
bright  waters.  The  exhilaration,  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
others  pleased,  died  down.  But  she  had  forgotten  for 
three  days ;  and  that  was  something. 

The  next  day  Gret  took  Dick  aside  and  explained  to 
him  the  real  object  of  the  surprise.  And  Dick  com- 
prehended immediately.  He  was  quick  to  admit,  both  to 
himself  and  her,  that  he  had  taken  his  men  too  much  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Wrapped  up  in  his  plans  for  the 
future,  he  had  been  over-confident  of  the  present,  and,  as 
he  observed  to  Gret,  it  was  a  pretty  bad  mistake  for  a  man 
to  make  who  had  been  handling  men  for  years. 

However,  it  was  a  hint  that  would  not  soon  be  for- 
gotten. Thereafter  Dick  took  his  foremen  and  straw 
bosses  more  into  his  confidence,  and  through  them  his 


378  GRET 

men.  And  soon  there  began  to  float  about  the  camp 
rumors  of  a  second  camp  to  be  installed  that  summer; 
yes,  and  even  rumors  of  a  railroad.  All  of  which  inter- 
ested the  men  greatly,  of  course,  and  gave  them  some- 
thing to  talk  over  and  look  forward  to. 

Early  spring  passed,  and  late  spring  blossomed  into 
summer.  But  before  that  Gret  had  given  up  fleeing  from 
herself.  Sooner  or  later  she  had  to  accept  things  as  they 
were,  and  better  sooner  than  later.  And  so  she  set  her 
back  to  the  wall,  and  grimly  allowed  herself  to  realize 
that  quiet  acceptance  of  daily  detail,  that  odd  following 
of  one  day  upon  another  with  no  golden  thread  to  bind, 
which  means  about  as  near  heartbreak  as  mortals  come. 
And  she  yielded  to  her  inclination  to  creep  off  somewhere 
and  be  alone  much  of  her  time.  But  she  did  not  bewail 
nor  repine.  She  wasted  no  maudlin  sighs  over  that  drear 
heart-sickness  whose  existence  time  alone  could  quench. 
She  had  great  faith  in  the  power  of  time— when  she 
should  have  lived  through  enough  of  it. 

And  when  the  summer  came,  and  the  land  bloomed  in 
beauty,  Gret  went  back  to  the  hills  and  the  woods.  She 
would  lie  high  up  in  the  sunshine,  and  by  those  lakes 
with  the  shining  faces,  and  lie  there  hour  after  hour  and 
day  after  day,  until  everything  was  forgotten  and  her 
heart  grew  warm  once  more,  and  she  was  back  again  to 
that  girl  she  was  before— oh,  before  many  things. 

That  summer  Gret  received  several  long  letters  from 
Arthur.  He  was  in  Mediterranean  waters,  on  board 
Errol  Ludlowe's  yacht,  Immortalite.  Perceiving  that 
argument  was  useless,  Ludlowe  had  descended  forcibly 
on  his  gentle  but  obstinate  friend  and  carried  him  off  for 
a  long  sea  trip. 

Errol  had  told  Arthur— and  no  one  else  in  the  world— 
almost  word  for  word  what  had  happened  between  him- 
self and  Gret;  and  Arthur  was  from  the  first  the  strong- 


THE  LONG  TO-MORROW  379 

est  ally  Gret  had.  He  knew  better  than  any  one  else  the 
sacrifice  she  had  made ;  and  as  the  two  men  sat  together 
on  deck  and  talked  of  the  matter,  Arthur  would  unwaver- 
ingly refuse  to  be  turned  aside— even  for  the  sake  of 
argument— from  his  faith  in  the  girl. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  apply  such  a  word  as  un- 
principled," he  said  over  and  over  again.  "She  is  the 
strongest  adherent  to  principle  that  I  ever  knew  of. 
Principles  are  ideas,  and  vary  with  varying  people.  When 
she  came  to  her  principle  she  gave  up  everything  rather 
than  transgress  it.  I  am  not  disappointed  in  her.  She  is 
thoroughbred." 

But  Errol's  pride  of  family  was  so  innate  that  he  could 
not  easily  forget  Gret's  contemplated  sin  against  it; 
though  neither  could  he  easily  forget  that  last  sight  of  her 
—  those  wide,  shining  eyes,  the  young,  lithe  body  instinct 
with  life,  the  music  of  that  voice  grown  low  with  pas- 
sion, the  pride  that  would  not  plead. 

Gret  of  course  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  But  she  saw 
at  once  that  Arthur  knew  everything,  and  that  his  sym- 
pathies were  all  with  her.  She  gathered,  too,  that  Arthur 
was  failing  very  fast.  He  spoke  now  and  again  of  a 
longing  to  return  home  to  his  beloved  work,  but  of  posi- 
tive refusals  on  Errol's  part  to  allow  it  on  account  of  his 
weakness.  Gret  loved  to  get  the  letters.  She  gathered 
foolish  comfort  from  the  fact  that  Errol  must  have  been 
somewhere  near  when  they  were  written;  and  yet  each 
one  started  afresh  the  hungry  longing  that  she  could  not 
kill,  for  each  time  Arthur  sent  kindly  remembrances  from 
Errol. 

The  fact  that  Gret  was  not,  after  all,  going  to  marry 
Errol  Ludlowe  was  accepted  in  the  community  with  pos- 
sibly much  private,  but  very  little  outward,  comment. 
Many  questioned  her ;  but  Gret  turned  all  curiosity  aside 
with  jests  and  the  smiling  assurance  that  she  was  not  so 


38o  GRET 

easi^3  to  be  got  rid  of.  Bobbie,  of  course,  heard  all  that 
his  mother  knew  of  the  matter,  which  was  not  much,  and 
in  turn  communicated  it  to  Bertie.  But,  as  Gret  volun- 
teered absolutely  nothing  on  the  subject  herself,  both 
were  too  gentlemanly  to  ask  questions. 

Mrs.  Silway  herself  wondered  a  great  deal  over  the 
sudden  termination  of  what  had  seemed  to  her  an  excep- 
tional chance  for  Gret;  but  Eva,  probably— in  the  begin- 
ning, at  all  events— more  on  account  of  her  love  for 
Robin  than  out  of  any  consideration  for  Gret,  had  never 
taken  her  mother  further  into  her  confidence;  and  Gret 
had  merely  informed  her  that  she  and  Errol  had  looked 
very  differently  on  certain  matters  and  had  therefore  de- 
cided permanently  to  disagree.  And  though  she  would 
not  question  much  on  a  subject  that  she  instinctively  felt 
was  unwelcome,  yet  Mrs.  Silway  pondered  the  matter 
often.  And  once,  when  Gret  read  portions  of  Arthur's 
letters  to  her,  she  said  tentatively : 

"I  shall  always  be  sorry  that  you  and  the  major  de- 
cided to  disagree,  Gret.  It  seems  to  me  that,  unless  it 
was  some  very  vital  matter,  it  would  have  been  well  to 
have  conceded  a  point.  To  my  way  of  thinking  he  was 
a  man  any  woman  would  learn  to  love  very  intensely— 
if  she  had  a  heart  at  all." 

Gret  smiled,  a  faint,  amused  smile.  She  was  thinking 
how  much  difference  a  knowledge  of  a  subject  makes. 

"But  sometimes  I  think  you  have  n't  a  heart,"  went  on 
her  mother,  half  jestingly. 

"I  hope  not,"  replied  Gret  gravely.  "They  're  very 
troublesome  things,  are  n't  they,  mother  ?" 

"Yes,  they  are,"  said  Mrs.  Silway  quietly ;  "but  it  takes 
a  very  great  intellect  to  equal  the  pleasures  of  a  very 
simple  heart." 


'     CHAPTER  XXV 

SAVED ! 

OWING  to  the  death  of  the  most  costly  member  of 
the  Silway  family,  and  the  fact,  therefore,  that  two 
thirds  at  least  of  the  profits  of  the  camp  returned  to  it  to 
be  spent  in  developments,  it  came  about  that  that  summer 
was  able  to  see  great  changes.  A  second  camp  was  in- 
stalled on  the  new  N.  E.  section ;  and  still  further  north, 
through  Dick's  watchfulness  and  energy,  another  exten- 
sive and  very  valuable  tract  of  timber-land  was  acquired. 
In  the  acquisition  of  this,  Dick  forestalled  by  only  a  very 
few  days  the  agents  of  that  great  lumber  trust  whose 
insidious  and  carefully  concealed  greed  has  honey- 
combed the  West. 

Up  to  and  through  this  new  tract  Dick  hoped  to  con- 
struct a  small  logging  railroad.  And  in  respect  to  this  he 
came  one  afternoon  and  held  a  long  consultation  with 
Mrs.  Silway ;  and  that  lady  in  turn  detailed  particulars  of 
the  consultation  to  her  daughters.  Some,  though  not  all, 
of  Dick's  plans  and  proposals  were  already  known  to 
Gret,  as  may  be  supposed. 

"He  wants  to  be  allowed  to  put  about  seven  thousand 
dollars  into  the  business,  and,  of  course,  share  profits 
proportionately,"  observed  Mrs.  Silway  serenely. 

"Oh,  good  for  Dick  !"  said  Gret,  a  trifle  surprised.  This 
was  an  idea  that  Dick  had  not  communicated.  "I  did  n't 
know  he  had  that  much,  though  I  knew  he  was  always 
saving." 

38X 


382  GRET 

"Oh,  well !  He  must  have  been  getting  a  hundred  and 
fifty  a  month  for  a  good  many  years,  and  I  don't  suppose 
his  expenses  were  ever  the  odd  fifty,"  said  Mrs.  Silway. 
'The  seven  thousand  is  not  all  he  has,  in  effect.  He  has 
some  valuable  timber  holdings  on  the  sound  which  he  is 
waiting  a  favorable  opportunity  to  dispose  of.  But  for 
the  present  he  wants  to  be  allowed  to  put  that  much  actual 
cash  into  our  concern." 

"Well,  let 's  let  him,"  advised  Gret. 

"Yes;  I  am  in  favor  of  the  proposal  myself,"  agreed 
Mrs.  Silway ;  "it  binds  a  valuable  man  to  us." 

"Oh,  I  can't  imagine  Dick  leaving  us,"  smiled  Gret. 
"But  he  takes  so  much  interest  in  everything,  and  is  so 
good,  that  it  seems  only  fair  that  he  should  be  allowed 
to  share  things." 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  too.  I  think  it  will  be  a  benefit  all 
the  way  round,"  said  Mrs.  Silway  contentedly.  "The 
logging  railroad  will  be  a  very  expensive  affair,  and  Mr. 
Swinton's  money  will  go  a  long  way  toward  paying  for 
the  engine— a  turtleback,  he  called  it." 

"If  we  keep  on  getting  bigger,"  observed  Eva  mu- 
singly, and  speaking  for  the  first  time,  "we  shall  all  be 
quite  rich  some  day.     And  then  we  can  take  a  trip  to 
Europe,  eh,  mother?" 

"Oh,  is  that  what  you  want  to  do  ?"  inquired  Gret,  look- 
ing at  her  sister  amusedly. 

The  two  girls  had  become  the  best  of  friends  again, 
though  Gret  had  never  made  any  overtures  to  Eva.  The 
sense  of  her  loss  was  so  keen  upon  her  that  she  could  not 
feel  that  she  owed  any.  But  Eva,  naturally  sweet-na- 
tured  and  affectionate,  when  the  poignancy  of  her  grief 
wore  off,  realized  something  of  her  sister's  sacrifice  and 
was  ashamed  of  her  early  unreasonableness.  Her  eyes, 
keener  through  her  own  loss,  could  trace  something  that 
had  gone  out  of  Gret's  face  and  never  would  return.  The 


SAVED!  383 

hope,  the  alertness,  the  all-embracing  curiosity  were 
gone ;  and  the  stilled  look  in  her  eyes  was  that  of  a  woman 
who  had  looked  beyond  the  veil  of  youth,  and  knew. 
Her  nature  was  so  different,  so  much  less  intense,  that 
Eva  could  not  measure  the  depth  of  Gret's  loss;  but  her 
intuition  was  sufficient  to  measure  a  part  of  it.  And  Gret, 
when  she  was  ready  to  return,  received  her  sister  back 
to  the  same  old  footing  without  comment. 

"Oh,  yes!"  replied  Eva  now.  "I  think  it  would  be 
lovely,  don't  you,  Gret?  Fancy  seeing  all  those  glorious 
old  places  that  we  read  about.  And  Rome  and  Venice. 
Oh,  my!"  Eva  clasped  her  hands  together  in  ecstasy. 
And  again  Gret  laughed.  "Why,  Gret,  would  n't  you 
like  to  see  them?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Well,  you  don't  enthuse  much,"  grumbled  Eva. 

"We  're  not  starting  yet,"  said  Gret  with  a  sm.ile.  "No 
use  wasting  enthusiasm  this  far  ahead." 

And  then  the  conversation  returned  to  Dick  and  his 
plans,  in  all  of  which  the  entire  Silway  family  appeared 
to  have  unbounded  and  united  confidence.  The  further 
she  became  acquainted  with  him  the  more  Mrs.  Silway 
liked  her  foreman ;  and  if  anything  was  wanting  to  her 
complete  and  correct  estimate  of  his  manly  character  and 
sterling  qualities,  Gret  promptly  supplied  it. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  Silway  Logging  Com- 
pany filed  new  articles  of  incorporation,  and  became  Sil- 
way &  Swinton.  Dick  deprecated  the  adoption  of  his 
name,  but  the  Silways  wished  it,  and  it  was  done.  The 
camp  rejoiced  greatly,  but  watched  carefully,  nevertheless, 
for  .signs  of  demoralization  to  appear  in  their  favorite 
boss.  None  became  discernible,  though,  even  to  the  most 
watchful  eye.  Dick  took  his  men  into  all  his  plans,  and 
made  them  part  and  parcel  of  them.  And  everything 
went  along  in  unbroken  harmony. 


384  GRET 

Gret  especially  was  pleased  at  this  substantial  recog- 
nition of  her  friend's  worth  as  a  man.  She  patted  him 
on  the  back  one  day,  at  the  close  of  the  proceedings  which 
made  him  a  member  of  the  firm. 

"There !    Now  you  're  one  of  the  family,  Dick." 

Dick  turned  and  looked  at  her;  the  keen,  straight 
glance  of  his  eyes  was  faintly  quizzical.  "Not  yet,"  he 
said  quietly. 

Gret  looked  rather  surprised.  She  was  up  in  the  new 
camp  with  him,  and  together  they  were  considering  the 
site  of  the  new  railroad. 

"Well,"  she  said  after  a  moment,  "you  're  beginning 
to  be.  Mother  gets  to  know  you  better  and  to  feel  more 
at  home  with  you  every  day." 

Dick  laughed.  And  again  Gret  did  not  see  the  entire 
applicability  of  the  laugh.  But  he  said  nothing,  and  she 
sat  down  by  him  on  the  tree,  and  gazed  over  the  pine- 
clad,  sunlit  stretch  of  beauty  before  her. 

"You  see,"  went  on  Dick,  with  a  wave  of  the  arm,  and 
reverting  to  their  previous  conversation,  "we  '11  log  all 
down  the  sides  of  this  canon,  and  then  have  three  sections 
at  the  head  of  it.  That  engine  will  haul  the  whole  busi- 
ness." 

"It  's  an  awfully  big  stretch,"  observed  Gret  reflec- 
tively. 

Dick  nodded  thoughtfully.  "Yes,  I  shall  put  another 
camp  at  the  head  of  the  cafion,  to  log  those  eastern  sec- 
tions.   Too  far  for  them  to  come  to  us." 

"But  the  boom  will  be  too  high  up  then,  won't  it?" 
queried  Gret,  her  eye  following  the  proposed  line  of 
road. 

"The  logs  are  easily  taken  up,"  replied  Dick ;  "and  then 
we  shall  have  to  lengthen  the  boom  a  good  bit  anyway. 
Oh,  we  Ve  got  our  work  cut  out  for  the  next  two  years, 
all  right,"  contentedly. 


SAVED!  385 

"Oh,  my !  I  do  wish  I  were  a  man,"  sighed  Gret  en- 
viously, "so  that  I  could  help." 

"You  can  help  more  as  a  woman,"  said  Dick  quietly. 
"Maybe  you  have  helped  more  than  you  know."  And 
then,  going  on  in  the  same  quiet  voice,  "I  heard  some- 
thing the  other  day  that  is  a  great  secret.  Want  to  hear 
it,  Gret?" 

"Yes,"  promptly. 

"I  heard— mind,  you  must  be  just  as  surprised  as  ever 
when  they  tell  you— that  we  're  going  to  lose  our  Jake 
and  you  your  Lizzie." 

"What!"  Gret's  eyes  were  as  big  as  saucers.  She 
would  not  have  been  more  amazed  if  Dick  had  told  her 
that  the  camp  had  fallen  through  the  bottom  of  the  canon. 
"Jake  going— and  Lizzie !  Why,  the  camp  would  n't  be 
the  camp  without  Jake !" 

"Yes,  they  are  going  to  be  married,  and  buy  out  Mrs. 
Olesen  at  the  Pacific,"  went  on  Dick.  "But  remember, 
it  's  a  dead  secret  yet.  I  'm  awfully  sorry ;  but  then— I 
suppose  we  could  n't  hope  to  keep  Jake  forever." 

"Well!  Jake  's  pretty  sly  about  it!"  said  Gret  indig- 
nantly.    "I  never  saw  him  talking  to  Lizzie  overmuch." 

"Oh,  no !"  Dick  laughed.  "Jake  has  n't  lived  with  us 
all  these  years  for  nothing." 

"Humph!"  Gret  looked  sincerely  disgusted.  "I  sup- 
pose you  '11  tell  me  you  're  going  to  get  married  and  go 
off  next !" 

Dick  smiled  queerly.  "I  wish  I  could— tell  you  I  was 
going  to  get  married,  I  mean.  What  would  you  do  then, 
Gret?" 

"I  don't  know,"  petulantly.  "Oh,  well,  we  would  n't 
try  to  have  a  camp  at  all  then,  that 's  all." 

And  then,  abruptly  and  still  intensely  disgusted,  Gret 
went  home,  to  stare  hard  at  Lizzie  and  see  if  she  looked 
as  natural  as  ever. 

25 


386  GRET 

In  the  August  of  that  year  Mrs.  Baring  paid  a  brief 
visit  to  the  mill.  She  did  not  see  much  of  Gret;  and 
when  she  did  see  her,  question  as  she  might,  she  could 
not  gain  any  satisfaction  concerning  the  cause  of  the 
broken  engagement.  She  informed  Gret,  however,  that 
Maude  Vibart  still  occupied  her  old  place  in  the  house- 
hold, and  from  certain  points  in  Errol's  manner  before 
sailing  Mrs.  Baring  was  able  to  safely  predict  that  the 
serene  heiress  would  undoubtedly,  on  his  return  from 
the  yachting  tour,  be  the  next  woman  of  his  choice.  And 
Gret,  agreeing  in  her  own  heart  with  this  prediction, 
went  off  to  rage  with  herself  and  the  jealousy  that  con- 
sumed her. 

Before  this  visit  of  Mrs.  Baring's — this  turning  over 
again  of  the  ashes  of  the  might-have-been— Gret  had  ob- 
tained a  certain  amount  of  peace  with  herself.  But  such 
as  it  had  been,  it  fled,  and  its  place  was  filled  by  a  jeal- 
ousy, a  constant  fear,  that  would  not  sleep  nor  be  dis- 
pelled. As  long  as  Errol  remained  alone  Gret  felt  that 
she  could  stand  the  separation;  but  on  the  day  that  he 
married  another  woman  she  did  not  feel  that  she  could 
live  and  remain  sane. 

So  ill  at  ease  was  she,  and  so  totally  unable  to  stay 
any  length  of  time  in  any  one  place,  that  she  grew 
very  wild,  and  roamed  the  trackless  forests  in  reckless 
fashion. 

Dick  Swinton  was  very  uneasy,  being  as  usual  afraid 
for  the  girl's  Hfe;  and  even  Jake,  generally  so  com- 
placent in  matters  pertaining  to  Gret's  safety,  when  that 
young  lady  coolly  emerged  from  the  woods  hours  after 
dark,  took  her  to  task  seriously.  Gret  took  all  the  scold- 
ings with  meekness  and  gravity  on  her  face  and  grim 
mirth  in  her  heart.  She  was  inclined  to  think  that  what 
would  be  would  be ;  and  in  the  meantime  she  must  be 
amused. 


SAVED!  387 

Dick  was  more  puzzled  and  worried  over  Gret,  it  is 
safe  to  say,  than  over  all  the  business  details  of  the  camps 
and  his  stewardship  thereof  combined. 

He  was  about  to  retire  one  night,  but  noticed  with  his 
usual  watchfulness  a  resumption  of  sounds  in  the  kitchen, 
which  had  long  ago  grown  quiet.  Glancing  out  of 
the  cabin,  and  seeing  the  kitchen  lighted  up  again,  and 
Jake  moving  hurriedly  about  within,  he  walked  across  to 
discover  the  reason  for  these  unusual  proceedings.  His 
astonished  eyes  beheld  Gret  seated  in  a  chair.  That  in 
itself  was  sufficiently  surprising  at  the  hour,  but  her  ap- 
pearance was  what  amazed  him.  Never  once  in  her  life 
could  he  remember  to  have  seen  Gret  even  tired ;  now  she 
was  physically  all  but  collapsed.  But  her  eyes,  half 
laughing,  half  defiant,  glared  at  Dick  as  he  stood  in  the 
shadowy  doorway. 

'Too  bad  to  come  bothering  Jakey  at  this  time,  is  n^t 
it,  Dick  ?"  she  said,  and  there  was  exhaustion  even  in  the 
tones  of  her  voice ;  "but  I  had  to  fix  up  a  little  before  I 
went  home." 

"I  should  think  so !"  Dick  came  and  stood  before  her. 
Every  line  in  the  lithe,  strong  body  was  limp,  her  hair 
streamed  down  over  her  shoulders,  her  right  sleeve  was 
torn  open  from  elbow  to  shoulder  and  the  flesh  was 
plainly  ragged  and  bleeding  within,  and  there  was  blood 
on  her  temple.  But  all  this  might  have  resulted  from  a 
bad  fall,  and  it  was  the  exhaustion  that  claimed  Dick's 
particular  attention. 

"What  chased  you— bear  or  a  man  ?" 

"Not  going  to  tell,"  obstinately.  "I  'm  afc\l  right. 
That  's  all  that  's  necessary.  Don't  look  so  cross,  Dick. 
And  Jake,  too.  Just  look  how  mad  Jake  looks!  It  's 
your  fault,  Jake.  I  told  you  not  to  go  to  any  trouble. 
And  I  won't  drink  any  coffee  if  you  do  make  it." 

"Yes,  you  will,  too !"  said  Jake  in  an  indignant  screech. 


388        '  GRET 

He  was  literally  dancing  about  the  kitchen,  tickling  up 
the  half-dead  fire  in  the  range,  and  trying  to  prepare  cof- 
fee and  gather  together  some  soft  white  rags  and  a  bowl 
of  water  all  at  once.  "I  'm  not  mad  at  the  trouble,  and 
you  know  that  all  the  while  you  're  saying  it.  I  'm  just 
mad  to  think  you  *11  go  on  taking  such  fool  chances  spite 
of  all  I  can  say  to  you.  What  can  anybody  do  with  a 
girl  like  this  ?"— to  Dick. 

Dick  shook  his  head,  and  held  out  his  hand  for  the 
bowl  of  water  with  which  the  indignant  cook  was  ap- 
proaching. "Yes,"  thrusting  it  into  his  hands.  "You 
wash  the  blood  off  her  face  while  I  make  the  coffee. 
Wonder  where  that  fool  Joe  's  got  to." 

Dick  bathed  the  blood  off  the  scratched  temple  with 
ridiculous  gentleness,  Gret  holding  up  her  face  like  an 
obedient  child.  Then  he  pulled  aside  the  ragged  edges  of 
the  torn  sleeve,  and  as  he  saw  the  somewhat  badly  torn 
flesh,  shivered  slightly.  Gret  laughed.  "You  big  silly! 
Never  mind  that.  I  '11  wash  that  all  off  when  I  get  home. 
Only  thing  is,"  frowning  slightly,  "how  am  I  to  get 
home?  I  can't  get  quietly  into  my  room.  Have  I  got 
anything  at  all  left  down  here— an  old  jacket  or  any- 
thing, Jake?"  Jake  shook  his  head  over  the  coffee 
strainer.  "Oh,  well,  I  must  trust  to  luck.  No,  don't  try 
to  wash  it  off,  Dick;  it  will  only  begin  to  bleed  again. 
I  '11  wash  it  when  I  get  home." 

Jake  now  brought  up  a  steaming  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
tempting  piece  of  pie  on  a  plate.  Gret  took  the  coffee 
and  drank  it  eagerly,  but  shook  her  head  at  the  pie. 

"Can't  eat  pie!"  exclaimed  Jake,  his  eyes  round  with 
amazement. 

"She  's  too  used  up  to  eat,"  observed  Dick,  watching 
the  girl  drink  the  coffee  with  a  curious  expression  in  his 
eyes.    "Tell  us  what  happened  to  you,  Gret." 

But  Gret  shook  her  head,  and  Dick  forbore  to  press  the 


SAVED!  389 

question.  After  she  had  rested  a  while  Dick  and  Jake 
took  her  home,  Jake  carrying  a  lantern  and  Dick  keeping 
a  firm  hold  on  Gret's  arm,  for  so  tired  was  she  that  her 
usually  sure  feet  stumbled  painfully.  On  the  way  back 
to  the  camp  the  two  men  discussed  the  problem  of  her 
appearance. 

"It  's  some  man,"  asserted  Jake  decidedly ;  "and  that  's 
why  she  won't  tell.    Thinks  it  would  make  trouble." 

"And  so  it  would,"  said  Dick  between  his  teeth. 
"Some  Indian,  I  suppose,  or  trapper—" 

"No,  no  Indian,"  objected  Jake  promptly.  "She  's 
known  most  of  them  round  about  here  all  her  life.  An 
Indian  don't  turn  on  a  friend.  No.  You  see,  if  some 
fellow  tried  to  do  her  harm  and  she  broke  away,  he  'd 
naturally  chase  her  for  all  he  was  worth.  Because  he  'd 
figure  on  her  coming  straight  down  here  and  telling 
about  it,  which  would  likely  make  the  country  round 
about  too  hot  for  him." 

"Rather!"  muttered  Dick,  enraged  at  the  mere  sug- 
gestion. 

"And  he  'd  just  about  have  done  for  her  if  he  'd  got 
her,"  went  on  Jake  thoughtfully.  "But  it  's  no  kind  of 
use  trying  to  stop  Gret  roaming  about.  It  might  be  a 
good  idea,  though,  to  try  and  get  her  to  carry  a  gun  about 
with  her  and  to  teach  her  to  shoot.  Suppose  we  could  do 
that?" 

But  Dick  Swinton  shook  his  head.  He  had  long  ago 
ceased  to  prophesy  concerning  Gret.  As  he  turned  in 
that  night  he  made  up  his  mind  to  say  nothing  further  to 
her  concerning  this  night's  occurrence.  It  was  useless  to 
remonstrate. 

However,  the  next  day  he  partially  departed  from  his 
resolution.  He  did  not  remonstrate,  but  he  inquired. 
Gret  was  up  on  the  grounds,  and  had  just  watched  with 
her  usual  delight  the  sighing  sweep  of  a  pine-top  through 

26 


390  GRET 

the  air.  Now  she  was  seated  on  the  fallen  monster  as  the 
trimmers  attacked  it.    Dick  came  and  sat  by  her. 

"Gret,  what  kind  of  life  is  this  you  're  leading?" 

Gret  turned  round  and  faced  him.  As  it  happened,  she 
was  in  an  amiably  reflective  mood  herself.  "I  don't 
know.    What  kind  is  it?" 

"It 's  no  life  for  a  young  woman,"  said  Dick  decidedly. 

"Well,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"What  do  other  young  women  do  ?" 

"Well,"  began  Gret  with  a  serenely  reflective  air, 
"some  of  them— about  half  of  them,  I  suppose— have  to 
get  their  own  living.  I  don't.  I  would  n't  know  how  to 
if  I  had  to.    What  could  I  do  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  'd  manage  something.  But  there  's 
no  need.    So  pass  that  and  go  on,"  smiling. 

"Well.  Some,  I  suppose,  do  housework,"  resumed 
Gret.  "If  I  tried  to  meddle  with  the  work,  Lizzie  would 
quit.  And  who  'd  thank  me  then?  I  can't  sew,  and  it 
would  n't  do  anybody  much  good  if  I  did.  What  else  is 
there  that  women  do  ?" 

Dick  looked  at  her  smiling.  "Do  you  remember  how 
mad  you  got  at  me  one  day,  long  ago,  when  I  said  what 
I  supposed  you  'd  do  when  you  grew  up  ?" 

Gret  remembered,  and  looked  in  his  eyes  and  laughed. 
"Yes,  I  remember." 

"Well?    What  do  you  think  about  it  now?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  it 's  about  all  there  is  for  some  women 
to  do,"  admitted  Gret.  "But,  like  all  the  rest,  it  's  no 
good  to  me.  Those  I  'd  want  would  n't  want  me,  and 
those  that  would  want  me  I  would  n't  want.  So  what  's 
to  be  done  ?" 

Dick  did  not  reply.  He  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on  his 
hand,  looking  straight  before  him.  And  then  presently 
he  got  up  and  went  over  to  investigate  the  stopping  of 
the  donkey,  whose  intermittent  hum  had  ceased  for  the 


SAVED!  391 

last  few  minutes.  And  Gret  remained,  as  usual,  mistress 
of  the  situation. 

Very  early  in  the  following  spring  Gret  received  a  let- 
ter, at  sight  of  which  her  heart  leaped  into  her  throat. 
It  was  from  Errol,  himself,  and  announced  Arthur's  death 
and  burial  in  Tangier.  The  writer  told  of  many  things, 
gathered  together  for  her  by  the  dead  man,  and  promised 
their  safe  transmission  when  the  yacht  arrived  once  more 
in  Calif ornian  waters.  Just  then  Errol  was  about  to  take 
a  trip  up  into  the  Moroccan  interior  which  promised  to 
be  of  more  than  usual  interest.  He  was  going  to  accom- 
pany an  envoy  of  the  French  government,  who  made  the 
trip,  under  promise  of  safe  convoy  from  the  Sultan,  in 
the  interest  of  the  proposed  policing  of  the  country  by 
France.  At  the  close  of  this  trip,  Errol  observed,  he 
intended  returning  home  and  endeavoring  once  more  to 
settle  down. 

Gret  laid  the  letter  against  her  cheek,  and  caressed  it 
almost  as  foolishly  as  a  school-girl  receiving  her  first 
love-letter,  and  then  scorned  herself  heartily  for  doing  it. 

But  as  week  followed  week,  and  the  time  for  the  prob- 
able return  of  the  Immartalite  drew  near,  her  feverish 
restlessness  became  pitiable,  none  the  less  so  for  being 
carefully  hidden  and  expended  mostly  in  the  brush  and 
among  the  hills.  None,  not  even  those  nearest  to  her, 
guessed  the  state  of  mind  she  was  in ;  but  many  noticed, 
in  spite  of  the  tan  of  her  skin,  how  ill  she  looked.  Her 
eyes,  almost  harsh  in  their  brilliancy,  were  deeply  shad- 
owed round,  and  her  lips  had  drawn  lines  of  suffering 
that  the  smiles  she  wore  among  men  could  not  hide. 

Seeing  that  the  most  likely— indeed,  the  only— avenue 
of  information  concerning  Errol  was  the  mill-house,  Gret 
went  down  there  often.  She  was  miserably  afraid  to  hear 
of  his  return,  but  could  not  stay  away  from  the  probable 
news  of  it.     Some  days  she  pictured  Bobbie  reading  to 


392  GRET 

her  a  portion  of  his  mother's  letter,  telling  of  Errol's  en- 
gagement at  last  to  Maude  Vibart.  Or  would  Bobbie  tell 
her?  He  might  think—  But  Gret  hardly  thought  he 
would  suppose  she  would  care  much  one  way  or  another 
now. 

But  Bobbie  never  read  to  her  or  any  other  the  news  of 
Errol  Ludlowe's  engagement.  Instead,  one  day,  he  came 
running  toward  her  across  the  little  lawn  between  the 
bluff  and  the  Silway  house.  His  boyish  face  was  drawn 
with  grief,  and  in  his  hand  he  waved  an  open  newspaper. 

"Gret!"  he  cried.  "Look  at  that!  You  must  have 
loved  the  dear  old  fellow  once." 

Gret  looked  at  the  sheet  held  up  before  her,  and  in  big 
type  she  saw :  "Brigand's  victim  noted  San  Francisco 
man."  She  read  on,  and  saw  how  Major  Errol  Ludlowe, 
with  the  French  Count  Montispeau  and  retinue,  had  been 
treacherously  murdered  by  order  of  the  brigand  chief 
while  on  the  way  by  appointment  to  his  stronghold.  The 
article  told  in  detail  of  the  finding  of  the  bodies  of  the 
two  men  and  their  guides  and  servants,  laid  in  orderly 
fashion  on  the  mountain  side  where  the  Sultan's  troops 
would  find  them,  and  of  immediate  steps  to  be  taken  by 
the  French  government  looking  to  retribution. 

Gret  read  the  article  down  and  understood  it.  She 
even  saw  the  bodies  on  the  mountain-side  in  that  dim, 
azure  distance,  and  that  one  face,  with  the  keen  but  tired 
eyes  closed.  And  then  she  dashed  the  paper  down  to  the 
ground,  and  threw  up  her  arms  with  a  sound  that  was  not 
altogether  a  laugh  and  not  altogether  a  cry,  but  something 
of  both.  And  before  Bobbie  could  stir  she  rushed  across 
the  sward  and  into  the  forest.  Into  the  heart  of  the  wood, 
past  all  possible  following,  she  rushed ;  and  on  a  hillside, 
above  a  plain  of  swamp  alder,  whose  level  tops  of  delicate 
green  were  like  a  soft  sea,  she  fell  on  her  knees  with  a 
strange  little,  dry,  sobbing  cry. 


SAVED!  393 

Saved— she  was  saved !  He  was  hers  now— hers,  hers ! 
No  other  woman  could  ever  be  his  wife  now,  nor  even  his 
love  for  a  few  days.  Oh,  Errol— dead,  dead!  But  she 
was  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  asked  to  be  his  wife,  or 
ever  would. 

There  was  none  by  to  see  this  half -crazed  woman  who 
had  been  hurt  almost  past  enduring  and  had  borne  it  in 
terrible,  unbroken  silence.  And  Gret's  frenzy  was 
the  more  terrible  in  that  it  was  the  breakdown  of  a  strong 
spirit.  She  rocked  herself  on  her  knees,  and  wrung  her 
hands  and  moaned  and  crooned  in  a  joy  that  was  sadder 
than  most  grief. 

And  then,  by  and  by,  she  lay  face  down  in  the  harsh 
moss  still  wet  with  the  late  rains  of  spring,  and  tears 
came — not  a  rain  of  them  in  woman  fashion,  but  great, 
hot  tears  that  welled  up  and  blinded  her,  the  first  in  many 
years.  She  thought  of  the  dear,  dead  man,  on  the  hillside 
in  that  far-off  country.  How  long  had  he,  perhaps,  lain 
there  dying  with  none  to  soothe  or  caress;  how  many 
nights  had  he  lain  there  dead  with  none  to  know  or  care ! 
She  shivered  to  think  of  the  awful  knife-thrust  from 
merciless  hands.  The  hurt  of  it,  and  she  not  there  to 
soothe. 

But  she  could  wait  now,  because  he  was  hers  and  none 
could  take  him  away.  Dead  as  he  was,  she  had  never  felt 
him  nearer  since  he  left  her  those  many  months  ago.  She 
could  see  the  serene,  high-bred  face,  and  feel  on  her  face 
again  the  slow,  quiet  glance  she  loved.  i\nd  no  other 
woman  could  come  between  her  and  that  glance,  none ! 

After  a  few  hours  quiet  came  back  to  Gret.  And  then 
she  fell  asleep — a  sleep  of  exhaustion  to  which  many 
months  had  contributed — and  slept  long  after  the  coming 
of  dark. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   ULTIMATE   NICHE 

TOWARD  the  middle  of  summer,  delayed  much  be- 
yond the  time  of  their  original  intention  by  the 
tardiness  of  Mrs.  Olesen  in  retiring  from  the  Pacific 
Hotel,  Jake  and  Lizzie  were  married,  even  according  to 
the  early  prophecy  of  Dick.  And  never  in  all  the  history 
of  Sil way's  camp  had  there  been  such  doings  as  there 
were  at  that  wedding.    And  such  presents ! 

Gret,  during  the  festivities,  was  the  busiest  person  pos- 
sible. And  even  for  a  short  time  afterward,  while  Lizzie 
got  satisfactorily  settled  in  her  new  abode,  there  was 
much  to  amuse  and  some  few  things  to  do.  But  soon  the 
shouting  and  the  tumult  died,  and  home  and  camp  settled 
down  again  to  a  peaceful  routine  of  work  that  now  was 
so  rarely  broken.  The  Widow  Bennett  took  Lizzie's 
place  in  the  Silway  household,  aided  by  a  young  girl,  and 
Jake's  place  at  the  camp  range  was  filled  by  a  cook  of 
long  experience  and  assertive  air.  His  place  in  camp 
councils  and  in  the  affections  of  the  camp  remained  va- 
cant, as  he  was  assured,  much  to  his  edification,  over  and 
over  again  by  many  and  various,  including  Gret.  Gret 
gave  particular  assurance  that  henceforth,  when  in  need 
of  pie  or  counsel,  she  would  repair  to  the  kitchen  of  the 
Pacific. 

Work  on  the  railroad  was  begun  early  that  summer, 
and  camp  and  canon  hummed  with  the  sounds  of  men  and 
horses  and  machinery.     Gret  took  great  interest  in  the 

394 


THE  ULTIMATE  NICHE  395 

work,  and  watched  and  admired  afresh  Dick's  just  and 
tactful  handling  of  the  large  body  of  men,  and  his  grave, 
unflagging  purpose  and  energy.  She  envied  him  his  set- 
tled aim  in  life,  though  she  could  not  quite  see  what  it 
was,  for  him.  Still,  his  whole  heart  was  in  his  work,  and 
that  was  something  to  be  thankful  for.  Gret  often  wished 
that  she  had  some  work  to  do  that  she  liked  to  do,  or  that 
was  any  good  to  any  one.  She  felt  like  a  stray  dog,  whom 
none  would  very  greatly  miss,  though  to  whose  presence 
none  objected. 

She  bestowed  quite  a  little  half  amused,  half  scornful 
and  wholly  disgusted  thought  upon  her  future.  She  en- 
joyed an  aimless  peace  now,  the  peace  of  one  who  has 
nothing  particular  to  fear  or  lose.  And  she  was  content 
enough  with  her  life,  if  she  could  go  on  indefinitely  with 
it;  but  she  knew  she  could  not.  She  was  quite  sensible 
enough  to  know  that  the  life  she  was  leading,  as  Dick  had 
once  remarked,  was  no  life  for  a  woman.  She  was  quite 
keen  enough  to  know  that  the  sight  of  a  matured  woman 
roaming  idly  and  endlessly  about  a  camp  and  associating 
with  the  men  would  be  no  pleasing  sight  even  to  the  men 
themselves.  Youth  was  with  her  now;  but  how  about 
when  it  was  gone  ?    And  every  year  lessened  it. 

Even  as  it  was,  she  felt  the  spaces  about  her  life  lessen- 
ing. She  no  longer  felt  unrestricted  in  her  actions;  for 
there  were  so  many  new  men  about,  men  who  had  not 
known  her  from  childhood  as  soine  of  the  old  hands  had. 
She  walked  about  the  camps  almost  as  freely  as  of  old; 
but  she  did  not  travel  down  the  skid-road  on  a  chain  of 
logs,  nor  go  down  the  river  on  a  raft,  any  more.  The 
sense  of  the  fitting  that  comes  to  a  mature  woman  re- 
strained her ;  and  moreover,  that  unbounded  joy  in  living 
that  had  once  been  hers  was  gone.  The  saving  sense  of 
humor  was  still  strong  within  her,  her  love  of  nature  as 
great  as  ever,  and  her  mood  amiable  and  contented.    But 


396  GRET 

her  heart  had  grown  grave  in  a  few  months,  and  never 
again  as  of  old  would  sing  upon  its  way  like  a  brook  in 
spring-time. 

And  Gret  often  pondered  these  things  as  she  sat  by  her 
own  lake,  the  Hidden  One,  that  bright  companion  of  so 
many  hours  of  delight,  of  so  many  hours  of  anguished 
struggle.  She  pondered,  and  wondered  idly  where  the 
worth-while  comes,  as  so  many  wonder  in  the  short 
breathing  spaces  between  the  acts  of  life's  drama. 

So  much  had  already  gone  out  of  her  life,  so  many 
changes  taken  place  in  the  personnel  of  it,  that  Gret 
grudged  the  thought  of  any  further  changes  with  a  fer- 
vor that  did  not  pause  to  note  any  possible  advantage; 
and  when  she  heard  in  confidence  from  her  mother  re- 
specting another  possible  one,  she  was  greatly  injured. 
She  felt  that  if  many  more  changes  took  place  there 
would  be  nothing  of  the  old  life  left.  Of  course,  the  dif- 
ferent personages  effecting  the  changes  remained  mostly 
within  sight  and  sound ;  but  they  occupied  totally  differ- 
ent places  on  the  board  of  life  and  things  were  not  the 
same. 

Gret  voiced  the  spirit  of  her  discontent  to  Dick  early 
one  evening,  having  come  across  him  on  her  way  from 
the  Hidden  One.  She  was  coming  down  the  hillside  be- 
tween the  two  camps,  and  noticed  him  a  little  above  her 
on  a  knoll  that  overlooked  the  scene  of  the  day's  work. 
He  was  strolling  about,  apparently  sizing  up  the  fine  firs 
that  clothed  the  sides  of  the  tiny  hill,  and  Gret  glanced 
up  at  the  tall  and  powerful  figure  with  the  folded  arms. 
Then  she  promptly  turned  aside  from  her  downward 
path,  climbed  up  to  where  he  was,  and,  sitting  down  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  leaned  her  head  against  the  bark. 
Dick  stood  looking  down  on  her,  his  arms  still  folded; 
there  was  a  strange,  intent  look  in  his  eyes,  and  Gret 
wondered  if  he  were  going  to  scold  her  for  roaming. 


THE  ULTIMATE  NICHE  397 

"Where  have  you  been,  Gret  ?" 

"Only  up  to  my  lake,"  calmly.  "You  know  it  's  quite  a 
way.  What  were  you  doing  ?  Looking  at  all  the  lots  and 
lots  and  lots  of  work  that  you  did  to-day  ?" 

"No,"  coolly.  "I  was  just  thinking  that  this  would  be 
a  lovely  spot  for  a  little  house." 

"Yes,  it  would,"  agreed  Gret,  with  a  critical  glance 
down  the  canon  and  to  the  river  beyond,  winding  like  a 
silver  thread  out  of  sight.    "But  who  'd  want  it?" 

"I  do." 

"You!"  Gret  lifted  her  eyes  quickly  to  the  man  above 
her.    "Why,  what  would  you  do  with  it,  Dick  ?" 

"Live  in  it.  What  do  you  suppose  ?  Don't  you  think," 
with  a  peculiar  smile,  "I  'm  ever  going  to  have  a  home  ?" 

"Oh,  yes — of  course."  And  then,  recollecting  her  for- 
mer grievance,  "Oh,  yes,  of  course  you  will.  You  '11  get 
married  and  change,  too,  like  all  the  rest." 

"I  don't  know  that  /  shall  change,"  replied  Dick,  with 
emphasis  on  the  pronoun.  "But  why  do  you  say  'too'  ?  Is 
any  one  else  going  to  change  ?" 

"Well,  this  is  in  return  confidence  for  the  news  you 
gave  me  in  advance  about  Jake,"  glancing  up  with  a 
smile.  "Mother  told  me  a  few  days  ago  that  Bertie  Fon- 
seker  had  asked  her  permission  to  come  to  the  house  to 
see  Eva.  He  has  been  hanging  about  Eva  for  quite  a 
while  anyway.  But  that 's  his  polite  way — to  ask  mother. 
He  's  an  awfully  nice  fellow,  a  gentleman  in  every  way ; 
but-" 

"Yes,  he  is,"  corroborated  Dick.  "There  's  no  'but' 
about  it." 

"I  know.  I  'm  awfully  fond  of  Bertie,  just  as  much  as 
I  am  of  Bobbie.  I  was  only  thinking — "  Her  voice 
trailed  off.  She  was  really  wondering  at  the  diversity  of 
Eva's  tastes.  Robin  so  tall  and  broad-shouldered,  built 
like  a  man  even  if  he  were  not  one:  and  Bertie  so  slim 


398  GRET 

and  gentle  of  manner.  But  she  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  Eva  was  a  woman  who  had  to  love  some  one, 
heart  being  a  very  big  portion  of  her  make-up. 

"Well,  what  were  you  thinking  ?"  demanded  Dick,  who 
had  been  watching  her  curiously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know— many  things.  That  Bertie  would 
be  too  easily  bossed  for  one  thing." 

"Oh,  well,  Eva  won't  try  to  boss  him.  She  's  not  that 
sort,"  said  Dick. 

"No,"  absently ;  and  then :  "Well,  will  you  live  in  the 
house  if  you  build  it,  Dick?" 

"I  will  if  I  build  it.  I  won't  build  it  unless  I  can  have 
the  woman  I  want  to  live  in  it,"  answered  Dick. 

Gret  lifted  her  eyes  in  a  reproachful  way.  "Oh,  Dick  !" 
she  said  downheartedly.  And  then  her  eyes  dropped 
gloomily  to  the  canon  that  the  sweet  September  evening 
was  filling  with  shadows.  "There !  I  knew  it  would  n't 
be  long  before  you  changed,  too.  I  felt  it.  Changes 
never  come  alone." 

A  loneliness  crept  into  her  voice.  If  she  lost  Dick,  she 
would  lose  a  great  deal;  they  had  been  companions  so 
long  and  so  truly.  But  then  it  was  only  right  and  to  be 
expected.  He  was  bound  to  find  his  place  in  life  like  all 
the  rest  of  them.  There  were  few  like  herself,  with  no 
ultimate  niche  provided. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean  by  'change,' " 
said  Dick.    "I  shall  still  be  the  same  man." 

"Oh,  yes,"  moodily.  "But  when  you  get  married  I 
can't  come  and  talk  to  you  as  long  as  I  like  and  as  often 
as  I  like.  And  besides,  you  '11  have  others  to  talk  to,  and 
won't  want  to.  You  need  n't  tell  me,"  frowning,  "that  it 
won't  make  any  change  in  you,  because  I  know  it  will. 
Of  course,  we  shall  still  be  friends,  but— oh,  it  '11  be 
different." 

"Well,  I  'm  not  married  yet,"  observed  Dick  with  an 


THE  ULTIMATE  NICHE  399 

odd  smile.  "You  see,  I  don't  know  that  the  woman  I 
want  wants  me." 

"Oh,  you  have  n't  asked  her?"  quickly. 

"No." 

"You  can't  like  her  such  an  awful  lot,  then,  if  you  take 
so  much  time  to  think  about  it,"  said  Gret  judicially. 

"No  ?"  A  strange  look  came  into  Dick  Swinton's  eyes 
as  he  looked  down  on  the  girl  before  him.  "I  've  wanted 
her  ever  since  she  was  big  enough  for  a  man  to  look  at. 
To  me  she  's  always  been  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  way  of 
a  woman  that  ever  happened." 

Gret  looked  quickly  up,  attracted  by  the  ring  in  the 
deep  but  quiet  voice.    "Who  is  it  ?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

"You !" 

Gret  sat  and  looked  up  at  him  in  a  sort  of  magnetized 
silence,  and  Dick's  eyes  rested  steadily  on  her  face.  Then 
she  rose,  still  gazing  amazedly  at  him;  and  as  she  came 
to  her  feet  he  took  both  her  hands  in  a  grip  of  steel. 

"Me !"  she  breathed.    "You  want  to  marry  mef* 

Dick  nodded ;  he  could  find  no  words  just  then. 

"Oh,  Dick!  Why,  I  never  even  dreamed—"  She 
laughed,  a  little,  pained  laugh.  Then  she  sighed.  "Well, 
you  won't  when—"  She  looked  at  him  almost  timidly. 
She  had  never  before  seen  in  his  eyes  such  an  expression 
as  they  held  then.  She  tried  to  withdraw  her  hands,  but 
they  were  not  released.  Could  this  be— Dick,  that  she 
had  known  all  these  years,  loved  her?  Well,  she  would 
tell  him  all.  She  remembered  Errol's  scornful  inquiry, 
"And  you  did  n't  mind  deceiving  me?"  No  other  man 
should  ever  be  deceived  by  her.  And  besides,  then  Dick 
would  need  no  answer.    She  looked  up  at  him  again. 

"Dick,  are  you  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  camp  ?" 

"No,"  grimly ;  "I  have  plenty  of  time  to  hear  you  say 
yes  or  no.  And  that 's  what  you  've  got  to  say,  Gret,  and 
before  you  leave  me.     I  meant  to  wait  a  few  months 


400  GRET 

longer,  to  give  you  more  time  to  forget.  But  you  brought 
it  on  yourself  by  coming  up  to  me  here  this  evening.  I 
v^as  thinking  about  you  anyway.  And  then  you  talked 
as  you  did.    And  now  you  must  speak." 

"I  will,"  hurriedly.  "But  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
Dick.    After  that— " 

"Well-and  after  that?" 

"You  shall  decide,"  gently. 

The  clasp  on  her  hands  tightened,  and  Dick  came  so 
close  to  her  that  she  backed  away  from  him  agai-nst  the 
tree.  "Do  you  mean  that  it  will  rest  with  me  whether  I 
have  you  or  not?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,"  slowly.    "If  you  want  me  after  that—" 

But  Dick  laughed  exultantly.  "Then  don't  bother  to 
tell  me  anything.  I  don't  want  to  know  anything ;  I  don't 
care.    I-" 

Gret's  eyes  flashed  wide.  "Yes,  you  shall !  You  shall 
hear  what  I  want  to  say — everything!"  she  said  fiercely. 
"One  man  accused  me  of  deceiving  him  when  I  only 
thought  of  keeping  a  secret.  You  shall  not  be  deceived. 
Loose  my  hands,  then  I  '11  hurry  and  tell  you  every- 
thing." 

He  complied,  watching  her  in  a  puzzled  way,  but  still 
with  the  passion  of  possession  in  his  eyes.  And  Gret 
leaned  against  the  great  fir,  and  nerved  herself  for  one 
more  ordeal. 

"Don't  look  at  me,  please,"  she  pleaded.  But  Dick 
smiled  slightly. 

"No  use  asking  me  not  to  look  at  you  now." 

And  so,  feeling  the  color  creep  over  her  face,  and  with 
eyes  firmly  fixed  on  the  caiion,  Gret  put  into  brief  but 
perfectly  truthful  condensation  the  story  of  her  early 
marriage,  her  undoing,  and  Robin's  death.  She  told  the 
exact  truth,  all  of  it  and  nothing  else.  She  did  not  try  to 
shield  herself  in  any  way;  but  brief  as  her  recital  was,  the 


THE  G^TWATE  NICHE  401 

sorrow  and  tragedy  of  it  was  apparent.  She  ended  with 
a  sigh. 

"And  now  he  's  dead— and— it 's  all  right—" 

And  then  she  looked  up  with  a  smile.  She  did  not  ex- 
pect much  outspoken  condemnation  from  Dick ;  but — she 
did  not  think  that  house  would  be  built  on  the  hillside. 

Dick's  face  as  he  listened  to  some  part  of  the  girl's 
story  had  been  a  study  in  overwhelming  amazement,  espe- 
cially as,  in  opening,  she  told  of  her  girlish  marriage ;  but 
long  before  she  ended  pity  had  taken  the  place  of  amaze. 
She  spoke  of  things  as  they  had  appeared  to  her,  and, 
knowing  her  so  well,  he  had  understood. 

And  when  she  ended  and  looked  up,  the  quality  of  the 
man's  love,  that  trusted  everything,  and  thought  nothing 
of  self  or  of  anything  but  her,  was  shown.  He  stooped 
suddenly  and  gathered  the  girl  into  his  arms  with  a  force 
that  almost  frightened  her.  She  had  never  felt  anything 
like  the  clasp  of  his  arms  about  her,  and  the  lips  that 
caressed  every  inch  of  her  face  were  instinct  with  a  man's 
undivided  passion.  Errol  had  been  fond  of  her,  but  Gret 
well  knew  that  he  had  never  loved  her  like  that. 

"You  poor  little  girl,"  he  muttered  softly.  "You  poor 
little  kid  facing  all  your  troubles  alone.  Why  did  n't  you 
come  to  me?  I  would  have  helped  you.  Did  n't  you 
know  I  loved  you  ?  Have  you  been  blind  all  these  years  ? 
Could  n't  you  see  that  that  sweet  life  that  you  were  al- 
ways trying  to  throw  to  the  winds  was  more  to  me  than 
mine?  Don't  you  know  that  when  you  were  going  to 
marry  Errol  Ludlowe  my  life  was  n't  worth  two  cents  to 
me?  It  was  done  for.  But  I  kept  plodding  on,  because 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  And  now!"— he  pressed 
her  face  against  his.     "I  've  got  you !" 

Gret  turned  her  face  against  the  rough  serge  of  his 
breast.  It  was  nice,  after  all,  to  know  that  some  one 
wanted  her;  to  know  that  there  was  one  at  all  events  to 


402  GRET 

whom  her  life  was  of  great  value.    And  she  lay  still  and 
listened  as  he  talked  softly  to  her. 

"How  could  I  ever  have  kept  still  all  these  years?"  he 
wondered,  with  his  lips  against  her  temple.  *'But  I  knew 
you  did  n't  care  particularly  for  me,  and  that  if  I  showed 
you  too  early  it  would  frighten  you  away  from  me. 
Would  it,  Gret?" 

Gret  thought,  with  her  face  still  hidden.  "Yes,  I  be- 
lieve it  would— even  one  day  earlier." 

Dick  smiled.  "I  know  you  don't  love  me  as  I  do  you," 
he  went  on  gently.  "Or  as  you  did  him.  He  was  the 
kind  of  man  to  make  a  woman  love  him,  and  you  did,  by 
the  way  you  spoke  just  now.  But  I  'm  not  afraid.  I  be- 
lieve that  when  a  woman  has  lived  with  a  man  and  been 
his  wife  for  a  few  months,  if  he  's  good  and  kind  to  her, 
she  '11  come  to  love  him.    And  you  shall  love  me." 

After  a  moment  he  released  her,  stroked  the  hair  away 
from  her  forehead,  and  kissed  her  again.  "And  now  I 
must  take  you  home,  sweetheart.    It  '11  be  getting  dark." 

They  walked  home  slowly,  his  arm  about  her  shoulders 
much  of  the  way.  They  talked  of  many  things — of  their 
future  together  and  Dick's  plans  for  it;  of  Eva  and  Ber- 
tie; of  Mrs.  Silway,  left  alone  in  her  little  home,  but 
never  of  the  past.  And  Gret  knew  very  well  that  she 
would  never  again  hear  from  Dick  of  that  past  whose  sad 
page  she  had  turned  back  for  his  judgment  to  rest  upon. 

Dick  left  her  on  the  landing  of  her  home,  and  rowed 
back  to  the  camp.  But  Gret  did  not  go  up  into  the  house 
at  once.  She  sat  down  on  the  landing-step,  and  looked 
absently  into  the  soft,  lapping  waters.  She  smiled,  a 
slightly  cynical,  but  not  unhappy,  smile. 

She  would  be  very  good  to  Dick,  and,  if  it  lay  in  her 
power,  would  surely  make  him  happy.  He  was  so  good. 
And  she  was  so  glad  that  some  one  wanted  her.  And  she 
was  sure  she  would  come  to  love  him,  even  as  he  said. 


THE  ULTIMATE  NICHE  403 

because  he  would  be  everything  to  her — friend,  husband, 
companion. 

But  now  and  then,  at  twiHght,  just  between  her  and 
the  Hidden  One,  in  whose  face  her  memories  were  mir- 
rored, she  might  look  and  see  a  face  whose  strange,  cyni- 
cal power  time  could  not  lessen,  and  meet  again  the  slow, 
quiet  glance  of  loved  eyes. 

Just  a  memory,  because  she  could  not  forget.  All  that 
remained  between  her  and  the  Hidden  One  alone.  Just  a 
memory !    And  how  could  the  dead  harm  the  living  ? 


THE  END 


YB  33356 


